| n a Cc < rs 2 a | x= S) wn Ww I a Pl z 3 3433 08239005 III . eeeed eores rc COLPRILTPFSTORLPCLAST SPL PeP ses Pee Pee RE TT TT Te ’ - ™ " a 2 = SHIARETEVAT VST LLCL IL es Lee Tee eae ee tee ® & eresace beet STDS ESEPRPOROR PRES RE PPPOE CES PeReT ere Les ATS Tay 204 CHTE Le PP EDS Set CALS ES ET CS IOS EIN SPT SITES Ts ee Heil / > + <: egerererer erPeretet EE 7 sey zt : ‘A % é' ere nda seebe ; ipa loue ag% oer ewee PEP UAE ee big Peele. o. 04° te one . oh Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from Microsoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/autobiographyofhOOjung a + i, ay Ver hei ulin THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF HEINRICH STULLING, LATE AULIC COUNSELLOR TO THE GRAND DUKE OF BADEN, &e., &ec., &e. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY §. JACKSON. NEW-YORK: PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, No. 82 Cuirr-STrReer. 1844. PREFACE. TO THE FIRST EDITION. Turre is a species of confidence felt in introducing to the notice of the public any foreign work which has been well received and frequently reprinted in the original, especially when it has been thought wor- thy of translation into other languages ; and this confidence is considerably aug- mented, when the object of the work is such as the translator can most cordially recommend to his readers, and when moral and religious instruction is conveyed in its most striking and attractive form. The translator experiences this confi- dence, in a high degree, with reference to the work he has now the pleasure of laying before the public. It is the biography of no every-day character; but of one who, from the lowest ranks of society, rose to a station of eminent usefulness, like some brilliant star, which, gradually emerging from acloudy horizon, increases in bright- ness the nearer it approaches its meridian, and gives light to many a way-worn and benighted traveller on his dubious path. In describing his own remarkable history, the author has developed such a beautiful and indubitable guidance of Providence, as should put unbelief to the blush, and prove highly encouraging to all who are placed in similarly trying circumstances. And here the translator cannot avoid the remark, which, indeed, will be obvious to every reflecting mind, that a memoir of any individual written by himself, is much more intrinsically valuable than one that proceeds from the pen of another person. For unless the latter content himself with a bare statement of facts—which, however striking, afford only a certain degree of interest—being necessarily ignorant of the hidden workings of the heart and mind, he is obliged to supply the motives which he supposes to have actuated the individual ; and which, since the minds of men are as various as their countenances, are seldom according to truth. Hence it is, that such memoirs very frequently convey more of the spirit of the biographer, than of the in- dividual whose life is narrated; so that those who have personally known the lat- ter, are scarcely able to recognize him iy his strange attire. But the life of Heinrich Stilling possess- es another advantage, which must not be overlooked. It was written, in the first instance, under an assumed name, and scarcely with the intention of being made public. Hence the author felt himself more at liberty to draw a faithful portrait, both as regards his interior and exterior life, without regard to the praise or cen- sure that might be bestowed upon him. It subsequently became known, indeed, that he was the author of it; but the scenes of humiliation through which he had pass- ed, had too deeply abased him in his own esteem to permit him to feel elated, even from the deserved honours he so abundant- ly received; and when, at the close, he throws off his disguise, and appears before the reader under his real name, it is only to place himself in as humble a point of view as possible, in order that all the glory and the praise may be rendered unto Him, to whom he considered them so justly due. The remark made above, with reference to autobiography, may be also correctly applied to the mode of translation. If, in order to preserve a certain elegance of style and fluency of expression, the trans- lator takes the liberty of remodelling every sentence, and clothing the author’s ideas. in language of his own, he will certainly fail of conveying the true spirit of the original,. and therefore seldom succeed in satisfy- ing the reader. The translator, in accord- ance with the judgment of a late eminent writer, has acted upon the opposite princi- ple, and has sought only to give a faithful version of his author, so far as the differ- ence in the idiom of the language would permit. In a work like the present, in consequence of the familiar mode of ex- pression so frequently employed, the diffi- culty is so much the greater; and the translator must therefore cast himself upon the lenity of his readers, and intreat. in this instance the indulgence which has been extended to his former labours. January 31st, 1835. HEINRICH STILLING. sips Nae a ha HEINRICH STILLING’S CHILDHOOD. CHAPTER I. Tuere is, in Westphalia, a diocese, which sies in a very mountainous district, whose sum- mits overlook many little provinces and princi- palities. The village in which the church is sit- uate is called Florenburgh; for the inhabitants have long had a disgust at the name of a village, and, therefore, although compelled to live by farming and grazing, have always sought to maintain a superiority over their neighbours, who are mere peasants; and who say of them, that they have gradually expelled the name of Florendorf,* and introduced that of Floren- burght in its stead. But, be that as it may, it certainly possesses a magistracy, the head of which, in my time, was Johannes Henricus Scultetus. Rude and ignorant people called him, out of the town-house, Maister Hans; but hon- est townspeople were also wont to say, Mister Schulde. A league from this place, towards the south- west, lies the little village of Tiefenbach, so call- ed from its situation between hills, at the feet of which the houses overhang the water on both sides, which, flowing from the valleys to the south and north, meets just in the deepest and narrowest part, where it forms a river. The eastern hill is called the Giller; it rises perpen- dicularly, and ‘its flat side, turned towards the west, is thickly covered with beech-trees. From thence there is a prospect over fields and mead- ows, which is bounded on both sides by lofty and connected mountains. ‘They are entirely planted with oak and beech-trees, and no open- ing is visible, except where a boy may be fre- quently seen driving an ox, and gathering fire- wood on his half-trodden path. Below the northern hill, called the Geisenberg, which ascends towards the clouds like a sugar- loaf, and on whose summit lie the ruins of an ancient castle, stands a house in which Stilling’s parents and forefathers dwelt. About thirty years ago, there lived in it an old man, named Eberhard Stilling, a peasant, and burner of charcoal. During the whole of the summer he remained in the woods, and made charcoal; but went home once a week to look after his family, and to furnish himself with pro- visions for another week. He generally came home on the Saturday evening, in order that on the Sunday he might go to church at Floren- burgh, where he was one of the churchwardens. In this consisted the chief business of his life. He had six grown-up children, of whom the eld- est two were sons, and the others daughters. Once, as Eberhard was descending the hill, - and contemplating, with the utmost composure, * Dorf, a village. + Burgh, a town | the setting sun, while whistling the tune of the hymn, ‘The sun its glorious course has run,” and reflecting upon the subject, he was overta- ken by his neighbour Stahler, who was walk- ing a little quicker, and probably did not trouble himself much about the setting sun. After pro- ceeding a while close behind him, and hem- ming several times in vain, Stahler commenced a conversation, which I must here insert verba- tim. Stahler— Good evening, Ebert!” Stilling —* Thank you, Stahler!” (continuing to whistle.) Stahler.— If the weather continues thus, we shall soon be ready with our woods. I think we shall finish in three weeks.” Stilling. —“* May be” (whistling again). Stahier—**I am no longer so able as I was, lad! I am already sixty-eight years old, and thou art near seventy.” Stilling —‘“‘ That’s very likely. There sets the sun behind the hill; I cannot sufficiently re- joice at the goodness and love of God. I was just thinking about it; it is likewise evening with us, neighbour Stahler! The shades of death rise daily nearer us; he will surprise us before we are aware. I must thank Eternal Goodness, which has sustained, preserved, and provided for me so bountifully, not only to-day, but all my life long.” Stahler—* That’s probable !” Stilling —“1 wait also, really without fear, for the important moment when I shall be delivered from this cumbersome, old, and stiffening body, and be able to associate with the souls of my forefathers, and other holy men, in a state of eter- nal rest, ‘There I shall find Doctor Luther, Cal- vin, @Scolampadius, Bucer, and others, in whose praise our late pastor, Mr. Winterbergh, has so often spoken to me, and said that, next to the Apostles, they were the most pious of men.” Stahler—* That’s possible! But tell me, Ebert, hast thou known the people thou hast just mentioned ?” Stilling — How foolishly thou talkest! They have been dead above two hundred years.” Stahler —‘ So! that’s surprising!” Stilling. — Besides, all my children are grown up; they have learned to read and write, they are able to earn their bread, and will soon need neither me nor my Margaret.” Stahler—* Need! that’s easily said! How soon may a girl or boy go astray, attach them- selves, perhaps, to poor people, and cause a slur upon their family, when their parents can no longer attend to them!” Stilling. “1am not afraid of all that. God 4 HEINRICH be thanked, that my attention to them is not ne- By my instructions and example, I have, through God’s blessing, implanted in my children such an abhorrence of that which is cessary. evil, that 1 have no further occasiun to fear.” Stahler laughed heartily—just as a fox would laugh, if he could, that had carried off a pullet in Spite of the watchful chanticleer—and continu- ed: “Ibert, thou hast much confidence in thy children; but | think thou wilt change thy tone when | tell thee all that I know.” Sulling turned about, stood still, leaned upon his axe, smiled with the most contented and con- fident countenance, and said, ‘“‘ What dost thou know, Stahler, that would so pain me to the soul ?” Stahler.—“ Hast thou heard, neighbour Still- ing, that thy son Wilhelm, the schoolmaster, is about to marry ?” Stilling.— No, I know nothing of it yet.” Slahler.—“ Then I will tell thee, that he in- tends to have the daughter of the ejected preach- er, Moritz, of Lichthausen, and that they are al- ready betrothed.” Stilling.—“ That they are betrothed, is not true; but it may be that he intends to have her.” ‘They now went on further. Staller —“ Can that be, Ebert? Canst thou sufier that? Canst thou give thy son to a beg- gar-woman, that has nothing ?” Sulling.—‘' The honest man’s children have never begged; and if they had? But which daughter is it? Moritz has two daughters.” Stahler.—* Doris.” Svilling. —“‘ 1 am willing to end my days with’ Doris. { shall never forget it. She came to me, one Sunday afternoon, saluted me and Mar- garet from her father, sat down, and was silent. I saw in her eyes what she wanted, but 1 read from her cheeks that she could not tell it. Iask- ed her if she needed any thing. She was silent, and sighed. I went and fetched her four rix- AMollars. ‘There!’ said I, ‘I will lend you this, till you can pay me again,’” Slahler.— Vhou mightest as well have given her them; thou wilt never have them again, as long as thou livest.” Slilling.—“ It was, in fact, my intention to give her the money; but if Ll had told her so, the girl would have been still more ashamed. ‘ Ah,’ said she, ‘kindest, dearest father Stilling! (the _ good girl wept heartfelt tears;) when I see how my old papa mumbles his dry bread in his mouth, and cannot chew it, my heart bleeds.’ My Margaret ran and fetched a large jug of Sweet milk; and she has ever since sent them Sweet milk two or three times a week.” Stahkler.—“ And thou canst suffer thy son Wil- helm to have the girl ?” Slilling.— If he will have her, with all my heart. ealthy people are able to earn some- thing; rich people may lose what they have.” Slahlr.—* Thou saidst before, that thou didst not know any thing of it. Yet thou knowest, as thou sayest, that they are not yet betrothed.” Stiling.— Lam confident of it! He will cer- tainly ask me first.” Slahler—“ Hear! hear! He askthee? Yes, thou mayest wait long enough for that.” Slilling.—“Stahler! I know my Wilhelm, I have always told my children they might marry as rich or as poor as they would or they could, and that they should only have regard to indus- iry and piety. My Margaret had nothing, and la farm burdened with debt. God has blessed STILLING. me, so that I can give each of them a hundred guilders, cash down.” Siahler.—“ I am not a Mr. Indifferent, like thee. I must know what I do, and my children shall marry as I find best.” “ Every one makes his shoe according to his own last,” said Stilling. He was now before his house-door. Margaret Stilling had already sent her daughters to bed. A piece of pancake stood for her Ebert in an earthen dish, on the hot ashes; she had also added a little butter to it. A pitcher of milk and bread stood on the bench, and she began to be anxious about her husband’s long delay. At length, the latch of the door rat- tled, and he entered. She took his linen wallet from his shoulder, spread the table, and brought him his supper. Strange,” said Margaret, “that Wilhelm is not here yet! I hope no mis- fortune has happened to him. Are there any wolves about?’ ‘“ What of that?’ said father Stilling, and laughed, for so he was wont; he often laughed loudly, when he was quite alone. The schoolmaster, Wilhelm Stilling, now en- tered the room. After saluting his parents with a good evening, he sat down upon the bench, rested his cheek upon his hand, and was thought- ful. It was long before he said a word. Old Stilling picked his teeth with a knife, for such was his custom after meals, even though he had eaten no flesh-meat. At length the mother be- gan; ‘Wilhelm, I was afraid something had happened to thee, because thou art so late.” Wilhelm answered, ‘Oh, mother! there was no need of that. My father ofien says, he that is in the line of duty need fear nothing.” He then became pale and red by turns; at Jength, he broke oat, and said, with a faltering voice—“ At Lichthausen (for so the place was called where he kept a school, and made clothes at the same time for the peasants, ) there dwells a poor eject- ed preacher; I am inclined to marry his elder daughter. If you, my parents, are both satis- fied, there will be no further hindrance.” ‘ Wil- helm,” answered his father, ‘thou art twenty- three years old; I have had thee taught; thou hast knowledge enough, but canst not help thy- self forward in the world, for thou hast lame feet. The damsel is poor, and not accustomed to hard labour: how dost thou think of maintaining thy- self in future?’ The schoolmaster answered, “ My trade will support me; and with regard to the rest, I will resign myself entirely to Divine providence, which will provide for me and my Doris, as well as for the birds of the air.” “What sayest thou, Margaret?” said the old man. ‘Hem! what should I say ?” rejoined she; “dost thou remember what answer I gave thee, during our courtship? Let us take Wil- helm and his wife into the house with us, where he may carry on his trade. Doris sha]l assist me and my daughters, as much as she is able. She can always learn something, for she is still young. They may take their meals with us; what he earns he shall give us, and we will pro- vide them both with what is needful; this seems to me the best way.” ‘If thou thinkest so,” re- plied father Stilling, “be may fetch the damsel home. Wilhelm! Wilhelm! think of what thou art doing; it is no trifling matter. The God of thy fathers bless thee with all that thou and thy maiden require.” The tears stood in Wilbelm’s eyes; he shook his father and mother by the hand, promised them all fidelity, and went to bed. And after old Stilling had sung his even-- ing hymn, fastened the door with a wooden bolt, STILLING’S and Margaret had been to see the kine, whether they all lay and ruminated, they also went to bed. Wilhelm entered his chamber, to which there was only a shutter, which did not, however, shut so closely as not to admit so much of the day to glimmer through as to make it evident when it was time to rise. This window was still open; ne, therefore, stepped towards it; it looked di- rectly towards the forest; all was profoundly still, except where two nightingales sang most sweetly. This had often served as a hint to Wilhelm. He sank down by the wall. “O God!” sighed he, “I thank thee for having given me such parents. O that I may cause them joy! Let me never be burdensome to them. I thank thee, that thou art giving me a virtuous wife. O bless me!” His tears and his emotions im- peded his words, and his heart spoke untterable things, which only those can know who have themselves been in similar circumstances. No one ever slept more sweetly than the schoolmaster. His inward felicity awoke him in the moming earlier than usual. He arose, went into the wood, and renewed all the holy resolutions he had ever formed during his life. At seven o’clock he went home again, and ate his breakfast of milk pottage and bread and but- ter. After the father had first shorn his beard, and then the son, while the mother consulted with the daughters which of them should remain at home and which should go to church, they dressed themselves. All this was finished in half an hour; the daughters then went before, Wilhelm followed them, and Jast of all the father, | with his thick thorn stick. When old Stilling went out with his children, they were always obliged to go before him, that he might observe their gait and manners, and instruct them in propriety of behaviour. After sermon, Wilhelm went again to Licht- hausen, where he was schoolmaster, and where his elder married brother, Johann Stilling, also dwelt. Mr. Moritz, the old clergyman, with his two daughters, had hired a couple of rooms in a neighbouring house, in which he resided. After Wilhelm had read a sermon to his peasantry, in the chapel, in the afternoon, and sung a hymn with them according to ancient usage, he hast- ened to Mr. Moritz’s, as fast as his lame feet would permit. The old man had just sat down to his harpsichord, and was playing a hymn tune. His morning-gown was very clean, and beautifully washed ; there was not a rent to be seen in it, but certainly at least a hundred patch- es. Near him, on a chest, sat Dorothy, a girl of two-and-twenty years of age, likewise very cleanly, though poorly clad, who very sweetly sang the hymn to her father’s tune. She beck- oned to Wilhelm with a cheerful] smile; he sat down by her, and sang with her, out of her book. As soon as the hymn was finished, the clergy- man saluted Wilhelm, and said, “‘Schoolmaster, { am never better pleased than when I play and sing. When I was a preacher, I often let the people sing along time; because in the union of sO many voices the heart soars far away above every thing earthly. But 1 must now speak to you of something else. My daughter Doris stammered out to me yesterday evening, that she loves you; but I am poor; what do your parents say?” “They are heartily satisfied with it,’ answered Wilhelm. The tears burst from the bright eyes of Dorothy, and the venerable old man, standing up, took his daughter’s right hand, gave it to Wilhelm, and said, “J have CHILDHOOD. 5 nothing in the world but two daughters; this one is the apple of my eye; take her, son! take her!” He wept. ‘‘ May the blessing of Jeho- vah descend upon you, and make you blessed in the presence of Him and his saints, and blessed in the sight of the world! May your children be real Christians, and your posterity be great! May their names stand written in the book of life! My whole life has been devoted to God; | have pursued my course with much weakness, but without offence, and have loved all men; be this your rule of life also, so shall my remains rest in peace!” Here he wiped his eyes. The two lovers kissed his hands, his cheek, and his lips; and afterwards each other also, for the first time, and then sat down again. The old gentleman now began as follows: “But hast thou not observed, Doris, that thy future hus- band has lame feet?” ‘‘ Yes, papa,” said she, ““T have seen it; but then he speaks to me so kindly and piously that I seldom pay attention to his feet.” “Well, Doris, but young women generally look at a man’s figure.” “T too, papa,” was her answer; “but Wil- helm pleases me just as heis. If he had straight feet, he would not be Wilhelm Stilling, and how ‘could I love him then ?” The clergyman smiled contentedly, and con- ‘tinued: “Thou must this evening provide us with something to eat; for thy bridegroom must sup-with thee.” ‘I have nothing,” said the in- nocent girl, ‘‘but a little milk, cheese, and bread; and who knows whether Wilhelm will be satis- fied with it?” “Yes,” rejoined Wilbelm, ‘eat- ing a piece of dry bread with you, is pleasanter than thick milk with white bread and pancakes.” Mr. Moritz meanwhile put on his worn-out brown coat, with black buttons and button-holes, took his old japanned cane, and went out, say- ing, ‘‘ I will go to the justice’s deputy ; he will lend me his gun, and I will then see if I cannot shoot something.” This he did frequently; for he had been a friend of the chase in his youth. Our two lovers were now alone, and this was what they wished. When he was gone, they took hold of each other’s hands, sat down to- gether, and told each other what each had felt, spoken, and done, since they became fond of each other. As soon as they had done, they began again at the commencement, and gave the tale a variety of turns, so that it was always new—tedious to every one else, but not so to them. Frederica, Moritz’s other daughter, interrupt- ed their enjoyment. She burst into the room, singing an old ballad. On seeing them she start- ed. ‘DolIdisturb you?’ asked she. ‘“ Thou never disturbest me,” said Doris, “for I never attend to what thou sayest or doest.” ‘ Yes, thou art pious,” rejoined the other; ‘ but darest thou sit so near the schoolmaster? It is true, he is also pious.” ‘And besides that, thy future brother-in-law,” interrupted Doris; ‘“ we have been this day betrothed to each other.” ‘There will be therefore a wedding for me,” said Fred- erica, and skipped out of the door again. While they were sitting together thus pleas- antly, Frederica burst violently into the room again. ‘QOh!” cried she, stammering; “ they are bringing my father bleeding into the village. Jost, the gamekeeper, is striking him incessant- ly, and three of the squire’s men are dragging him along. Ah, they will beat him to death !” Doris uttered a loud cry, and flew out of the 6 HEINRICH ° door. Wilhelm hastened after her, but the good man could not run so fast as she. His brother Johann dwelt close to Mr. Moritz; him he call- ed to his assistance. ‘These two then went to- wards the noise. ‘They found Moritz in the inn, sitting on a chair, his grey hair clotted with blood; the servant-men and the gamekeeper stood round him, swore, mocked, shook their fists in his face, and a snipe that had been shot lay before Moritz on the table. The impartial landlord quietly served them with liquor. F'red- erica begged suppliantly for mercy, and Doris for a little spirit to wash her father’s head; but she had no money to pay for it, and the loss would have been too great for the landlord to have given her halfa glass. But as women are naturally merciful, the landlady brought up some in a piece of broken pot which had stood _ under the tap of the gin cask, and with it Doris washed her father’s head. Moritz had already repeatedly said that the squire had given him permission to shoot as much as he pleased; but he was, unfortunately, at that time from home ; the old gentleman therefore was silent, and of- fered no further excuse. Things were in this situation when the brothers Stilling entered the inn. The first revenge they took was on a glass of gin, with which the landlord was coming out of the cellar, and carrying very carefully, lest any of it should be spilled; although this pre- caution was not very necessary, for the glass was above a quarter empty. Johann Stilling struck the landlord over the hand, so that the glass flew against the wall, and broke into a thousand pieces. But Wilhelm, who was al- ready in the room, seized his father-in-law b the hand and Jed him out of it in silence, wit as much gravity as if he had been the squire himself, without saying any thing to any one. The gamekeeper and the servants threatened and held him, first in one place and then an- other; but Wilhelm, who was as much strong- er in his arms as he was weaker in his feet, saw and heard nothing, continued silent, and labour- ed but to get Moritz loose; wherever he found a clenched hand he broke it open, and thus he brought him out of the door. Johann Stilling, meanwhile, spoke with the gamekeeper and the servant men, and his words were daggers to them; for every one knew how high he stood in the squire’s esteem, and how often he went to 4 with him, he affair at length terminated thus: at the return of the squire, the gamekeeper was dis- missed, and Moritz received twenty dollars for gest he had suffered. hat helped them the more quickly through, was that the whole place before the house was filled with peasants, who stood there smoking tobacco, and making themselves merry with the sight; and it only depended upon one of them putting the question whether their rights had not been encroached upon by this affair, and a hundred fists would have been ready, all on a sudden, to prove their Christian affection for Moritz, on the nape of Jost and his companions, They also called the landlord a cowardly pol- troon, who was obliged to submit to have his ears boxed by his wife. I must mention, in con- clusion, that old Stilling and his sons, by their grave and retired deportment, had become so much esteemed, that no one had the heart even to joke in their presence ; to which must be add- ed, what I have already touched upon above, that Johann Stilling was a great favorite with the sauire, But now to my tale again, S TILLING. Old Moritz grew better in a few days, and this vexatious circumstance was the sooner forgot- ten because they were occupied with much pleasanter things; namely, preparations for the wedding, which old Stilling and his Margaret insisted, once for all, upon keeping in their own nouse. ‘They fattened a couple of hens for broth, and a fat sucking-calf was destined to be roasted in large earthen dishes; baked plums in abun- dance, and rice for the soup, together with rai- sins and currants, were provided, even to super- fluity. Old Stilling has been heard to say that this wedding cost him, in victuals alone, about ten rix-dollars. Be that as it may, all was con- sumed. Wilhelm had suspended his school for the time: for at such seasons people are not dis- posed for their ordinary employments. He also needed the time to make new clothes for his fu- ture bride and his sisters against the wedding, as well as for various other purposes. Stilling’s daughters required it also. They frequently tri- ed on their new jackets and clothes of fine black cloth, and the time seemed years to them, till they could have them on for a whole day. . At length the long-wished-for Thursday dawn- ed. ‘That morning, all were awake in Stilling’s house before the sun, except the old man, who, having returned late rom the woods the evening before, slept quietly till it was time to aceom- pany the wedding-people to the church. ‘They then went in due order to Florenburgh, where the bride, with her train, had already arrived. The marriage ceremony was performed without any gainsaying; after-which they all proceeded to Tiefenbach, to the marriage feast. Two long boards had been laid close together on blocks of wood, in the room, instead of a table. Marga- ret had spread over them her finest table-cloths, and the dinner was then served up. The spoons were of maple, beautifully smooth, and emboss- ed with roses, flowers, and foliage. The knives had fine yellow wooden handles; the plates, turned out of white beech-wood, were also beau- tifully round and smooth. The beer foamed in white stone jugs, enamelled with blue flowers. However, Margaret left every one at liberty to drink her pleasant perry, instead of beer, if they preferred it, After they had all eaten and drunk sufficient- ly, rational conversation commenced, But Wil- helm and his bride preferred being and talking alone ; they therefore went deep into the woods ; their affection seemed to increase the further they withdrew from mankind. Ah! if there had been no necessities of life—no cold, no frost, nor wet, what would have been wanting in the earthly felicity of this newly-married couple? The two old fathers, meanwhile, who had sat down alone, with a mug of beer before them, fell into serious conyersation. Stilling spoke as follows: “ My dear sir, it has always seemed to me that you would have done better if you had not applied yourself to alehymy.” Moritz. —“ Why, my friend ?” Stilling.—“ If you had prosecuted the watch- making business without interruption, you would have been able richly to earn your bread; but now your labour has availed you nothing, and what you had has been also expended upon it.” Moritz.—“ You are both in the right and in the wrong. If I had known that from thirty to forty years would have elapsed before I found the philosopher’s stone, I should certainly have considered before beginning it. But now, as I STILLINGS CHILDHOOD. 7 ‘have learned something by long experience, and have penetrated deep into the knowledge of na- ture, it would pain me to have plagued myself so long in vain.” Stiling —“ You have certainly plagued your- self in vain hitherto, for you have all the time been scarcely able to subsist; and though you were to become as rich as you wish, yet you could not change so many years of misery into happiness ; besides which, I do not believe you will ever find it. To say the truth, I do not be- lieve that there is such a thing as the philoso- pher’s stone.” Moritz. —‘ But I can prove to you that there is. A certain Doctor Helvetius, at the Hague, has written a little book, called ‘ The Golden Calf, in which it is clearly demonstrated; so that no one, even the most incredulous, on read- ing it, can doubt of it any longer. But whether I shall obtain it or not is another question. But why not I as well as another, since it is a free gift of God ?” Stiling. —“ If God had intended to give you the philosopher’s stone, yon would have had it long ago! Why should he keep it from you so long? Besides, itis not necessary that you should have it; how many people live without the phi- losopher’s stone !” Moritz —‘‘ That is true; but we ought to make ourselves as happy as we can.” Stilling.—“ Thirty years of misery is certain- ly no happiness: but do not take it amiss,” sha- king him by the hand. “As long as Ihave lived, Ihave never wanted; I have been healthy, and am now grown old; I have brought up my chil- dren, had them taught, and clothed them decent- ly. Iam quite content, and therefore happy! It would be of no use to give me the philosopher’s stone. But hear me, my friend: you sing very ‘well, and write beautifully; be schoolmaster here in this village. Frederica can be boarded elsewhere ; I have a clothes room to spare, in which I could place a bed; you could then live ‘with me, and so be always with your children.” Moritz.— Your offer, my good friend, is very kind; and I wili accept it, after I have made one ‘trial more.” Stilling —* Make no more attempts, my friend; they will certainly be fruitless. But let cus talk of something else. I am very fond of astronomy ;—do you know Sirius in the Great Dog ?”’ : Moritz.—“ 1 am no great astronomer, yet still I know it.” Stiling.—“ The direction, in the evening, is -generally towards the south. It is of a greenish- ged colour. How far may it be from the earth? They say it is even much higher than the sun.” Moritz.— O certainly, a thousand times high- er. Stuling —Is it possible! Iam so fond of the stars. I always think I am near them, when I look at them. But do you know also the Wain and the Plough?” Moritz,— Yes; they have been pointed out to me.” Stilling. —' Oh, how wonderful God is !” Margaret Stilling, hearing this conversation, came and satdown by herhusband. ‘O Ebert!” said she, “I can easily see in a flower that God is wonderful. Let us learn to understand them; we live among grass and flowers; let us admire ‘them here; when we are in heaven, we will con- -sider the stars.” “That is right,” said Moritz; “there are so many wonders in nature; if we duly consider them, we may certainly learn the wisdom of God. Every one, however, has something to which he is particularly inclined.” Thus the marriage-guests spent theday. Wil- helm and his bride returned home, and commen- ced their marriage state, of which I will say more in the following chapter. But Stilling’s daughter sat in the twilight, un- der the cherry-tree, and sang the following pa- thetic ballad :— “There rode a knight once over the plain, No friend had he, no wealth, nor domain ; His sister was fair and beautiful :— *O sister dear! I bid thee adieu! We never more each other shall view ; I’m travelling away to a distant land, So reach me once more thy snow-white hand, Adieu! Adieu! Adieu!’ ““ CHAPTER II. Egeruarp Sriruinc and Margaret his wife | now experienced a novel epoch in their domes- 8 HEINRICH tic arrangements, for a newly-married couple existed in their family. ‘The question therefore was—“ Where shall these two sit, when we dine?’ Bat in order to avoid obscurity in the narrative, I must mention the rank and order At which father Stilling observed at his table. the upper end of the room, there was a bench made of an oaken board, nailed along the wall, which extended behind the stove; before this bench and opposite the stove, stood the table, fastened to the wall as a flap, that it might be fixed up against it: it was made out of an oaken plans, at which father Stilling himself had faith- ully and manfully laboured. At the front of this table sat Eberhard Stilling, up by the wall, to which it was fastened by the board. He had perhaps chosen this advantageous place in order that he might support his left elbow, and-at the same time eat, without difficulty, with his right. However, of this there is no certainty, since he never expressed himself clearly upon it in his whole life. At his right hand, in front of the table, sat his four daughters, that they might the more easily pass to and fro. Margaret had her place between the table and the stove, partly be- cause she was easily chilled, and partly that she might duly overlook the table, to see if there was any thing wanting. Johann and Wilhelm used to sit on the ‘opposite side of the table; but be- cause the one was married, and the other kept school, these placés were vacant; they were, therefore, after due consideration, destined for the young married couple. Johann Stilling occasionally came to visit his parents; and the whole house rejoiced when he came, for he was a singular man. Every peas- ant in the village had respect for him. Even when he was very young, he had transformed a wooden plate into an astrolabe, and a handsome butter-box of fine beech-wood into a compass, and had likewise made geometrical observations from a neighbouring hill; for at that time the reigning prince caused a survey to be made, and Johann had looked on when the surveyor was at work. But he was now really become an able Jand-measurer, and was employed by the noble and ignoble in the division of their estates. Great artists generally possess the virtue which always prompts their inventive spirit to seek something new, hence, that which they have already dis- covered, and are acquainted with, is much too tedious to refine upon still further. Johann Still- ing was therefore poor; for what he was com- petent to he neglected, in order to learn that of which he was still incapable. His good but simple wife often wished that he would apply his knowledge of the arts to the improvement of fields and meadows, in order that they might have more bread. But we will forgive the good woman for hersimplicity ; she did not understand it better—Johann was wise enough in this re- spect at least; he was either silent, or smiled. Perpetual motion and the quadrature of the circle occupied him at that time; whenever he had penetrated deeper into a mystery of this kind, he hastened to Tiefenbach to relate his discov- ery to his parents and sisters. As he ascended the village, if any of Stilling’s household per- ceived him, they immediately ran home, and called all together, in order to receive him at the door. Every one then laboured with double dil- igence, in order to have nothing more to do after supper: they then placed themselves around the table, supporting their elbows upon it, and their cheeks upon their hands—all eyes were directed STILLING. to Johann’s lips. All of them then assisted im finding the quadrature of the circle; even old Stilling himself devoted much attention toit. I should do violence to the inventive, or rather the natural good sense of this man, if 1 were to say that he contributed nothing towards it. He oc- cupied himself with it even while burning his charcoal;—he drew a string round his perry- cask, cut it with his bread-knife, then sawed a piece of board exactly four-square, and scraped it until the string just fitted it—now the four-cor- nered board must necessarily be exactly the same size as the circumference of the perry-cask.. Eberhard skipped about upon one foot, laughed at the great wise-heads who made so much work of such a simple thing, and related the discovery to his son Johann the next opportunity. We must confess the truth ;—father Stilling had cer- tainly nothing satirical in his character, yet still a little satire was intermingled here. But the land-measurer soon put an end to his joy by say- ing, ‘‘The question, father, is not whether a joiner can make a four-cornered box, that con- tains just as much oats as a round cylindrical cask; but it must be demonstrated what propor- tion the diameter of the circle bears to ils pe- riphery, and then, how large each side of the square must be, in order that the latter be as large as the circle. But in both cases, not a thousandth part of a hair must be wanting in the- calculation. It must be proved by algebra that it is correct in the theory.” Old Stilling would have felt ashamed, if the learning of his son, and his immoderate joy at it, had not expelled from him all feeling of shame.. He therefore said nothing further, except, “ It is not easy to dispute with the learned ;” laughed, shook his head, and continued to cut chips from a log of beech-wood, for the purpose of lighting fire and candle, or perhaps also a pipe of tobac- co; for this was his occupation in his leisure hours. Stilling’s daughters were strong and laborious ; they cultivated the earth, which yielded them abundant sustenance both in the garden and in the field. But Doris had tender hands and limbs ; she was soon weary, and then she sighed and wept. The girls were not altogether unmerci- ful; but they could not understand why a female who was quite as tall as one of themselves was not equally able to labour. Their sister-in-law was however often obliged to rest; but they nev- er told their parents that she scarcely earned her bread. Wilhelm soon remarked it; he therefore ‘obtained the consent of the whole family, that his wife should assist him in sewing and clothes- making. This arrangement was entered upon, and all were well satisfied with it. Moritz, the old clergyman, now also visited his daughter for the first time. Doris wept for joy on seeing him, and wished to be housekeep- er herself, in order that she might treat him as she desired. He sat the whole afternoon with his children, and spoke with them on spiritual subjects. He seemed to be quite change timid andsad. ‘Towards evening, he said, “ Children, take me for once to the Geisenberg castle.” Wilhelm laid aside his heavy iron thimble, and spat in his hands; but Doris put her thimble upon her little finger, and then they ascended the wood. “Children,” said Moritz, “I feel socom- fortable under the shade of these beech-trees. The higher we ascend, the more I am at ease. For some time pass, I have seemed like one that is not at home. This autumn will certainly be STILLING’S CHILDHOOD. 9 the last of my life.” Wilhelm and Doris had tears in theireyes. They sat down upon a ru- ined wall of the castle on the summit of the hill, from whence they could see as far as the Rhine, and over the whole adjacent country. The sun, in the distance, no longer stood high above the blue mountains. Moritz looked with a fixed eye upon the scene, and was silent a long time, nordid hiscompanions saya word. ‘‘Children,” said he, at length, “I leave you nothing when I die: you can well spare me. No one will la- ment me. I have spent a tedious and useless life, and have made no one happy.” ‘“ My dear father,” answered Wilhelm, ‘you have made me happy. I and Doris will lament you tender- ly.” “Children,” rejoined Moritz, “our incli- nations easily lead us to destruction. Of how much use might I have been in the world, if I had not been an alehymist! Ishould have made you and myself happy. (He wept aloud.) Yet I always feel that I have acknowlecged my faults, and I will still amend myself. God is a father, even to erring children. Listen to one more admonition from me, and follow it. What- soever you do, consider well beforehand, wheth- er it will be serviceable to others also. If you find that it is only advantageous to yourselves, reflect that it is a work without reward. God only rewards us when we serve our neighbour. I have wandered through the world poor and un- observed, and when I am dead J shall soon be forgotten ; but Ishall find mercy before the throne of Christ, and obtain salvation.” They now went home again, and Moritz continued sad. He went about comforting the poor, and praying with them. He also worked, and made watch- es, by which he earned his bread, and had be- sides something over. Yet this did not last long; for the next winter he was lost ;—after three days, they found him frozen to death under the snow. After this melancholy event, a novelty of an important kind was discovered in Stilling’s house. Doris was pregnant; and every one re- joiced in the prospect of a child, of which there had been none in the house for many years. It is indescribable what labour and diligence were employed in preparing for the accouchement of Doris. Even old Stilling himself rejoiced at the idea of a grandson, in the hope of once more singing his old cradle songs before his end, and of shewing his knowledge in the art of education. The day of her confinement approached; and on the 12th of September, 1740, at eight o’clock in the evening, Heinrich Stilling was born. The boy was lively, healthy, and well; and his mother was also soon better again, notwithstand- ing the predictions of the Tiefenbach sibyls. The child was baptized at Florenburgh church. But father Stilling, in order to make the day more solemn, prepared a feast, at which he wished to see present the Rev. Mr. Stollbein. He therefore sent his son Johann to the parson- age, to invite the gentleman to accompany him back to Tiefenbach, to partake of the dinner. Johann went; he took off his hat on entering the court-yard, in order to make no mistake; but alas! how often is all human precaution un- availing! A great dog sprang forth; Johann Sulling seized a stone, threw it, and hit the dog in the side, so that he began to howl dreadfully. The clergyman saw what passed, through the window ; he rushed out full of wrath, shook his fist in poor Johann’s face, and screamed out, “Thou ragamuffin! 71 teach thee how to be- B have to my dog!” Stilling answered, “1 knew not that it was your reverence’s dog. My broth- er and my parents have sent to invite your rey- erence to go with me to Tiefenbach, to partake of the christening-dinner.” ‘The clergyman was silent, and went away; but growled back from the house-door, ‘‘ Wait; I will go with thee.” He waited almost an hour in the yard, caress- ing the dog, and the poor beast was really more placable than the learned divine, who now came out of the house. The man walked along, hold- ing firmly by his cane. Johann walked timidly behind him, with his hat under his arm ; putting it on was a dangerous affair, since in his youth he had received many a box on the ear from the clergyman, for not taking it off soon enough— that is, as soon as he perceived him at a dis- tance. But still it was terrible to walk for an hour together bare-headed, in the open air, in September: he therefore thought of some con- trivance by which he might with propriety cover himself. All of a sudden Mr, Stollbein fell to the ground, and made a great splash. Johan» was alarmed. ‘ Oh!” cried he, ‘has your rev- erence received any harm?’ ‘ What’s that to you, you lubber ?” was the man’s heroic reply, while gathering himself up. Johann’s fire now took flame in some measure, so that it burst forth: ‘I am heartily glad, then, that you have fallen,’ and smiled beside. “What! what!” cried the parson. But Johann put on his hat, let the lion roar without being afraid, and pro- ceeded on his way, as did his reverence also; and thus at length they arrived at Tiefenbach. Old Stilling stood before his door, barehead- ed; his beautiful grey hair played in the breeze; he smiled at the clergyman, and said, while giving him his hand, “I am glad to have the pleasure of seeing your reverence, in my old age, at my table; but I should not have been so bold if my joy had not been so great in having a grandson.” The clergyman wished him hap- piness, but with a well-meant threat attached, that he must be more diligent in bringing up his children, lest the curse of Eli should fall upon him. The old man stood in the conscious- ness of his ability, and smiled; however he said nothing, but conducted his reverence into the room. “TI will hope,” said the reverend gen- tleman, ‘that I am not to eat here among a swarm of peasants!” ‘No one dines here,” re- plied father Stilling, “except myself, my wife, and children; do you call them a swarm of peasants ?? ‘* Ay —what else ?” replied the other. ‘I must remind you, then, sir, that you are any thing but a servant of Christ, and that you are a pharisee. He sat with publicans and sinners, and ate with them. He was, on all oc- casions, meek, and lowly, and humble. Your reverence! my grey hairs stand on end; sit down or withdraw. Something beats here, or else I might do violence to your cloth, for which I have otherwise respect. Here, sir, here be- fore my house, rode the prince; I was standing at my door; he knew me, and said, ‘Good morn- ing, Stilling” I answered, ‘Good morning, your Highness! He dismounted from his horse, for he was wearied with hunting. ‘Fetch me a chair, said he; ‘I will rest here a little.” ‘I have an airy room,’ replied I; ‘will it please your Highness to walk into the room, and sit there at youreaseY ‘Yes,’ said he. The ran- ger of the forests entered with him. There he sat, where I have placed you my best chair. My Margaret provided him with new milk and 10 HEINRICH bread-and-butter. He obliged us both to eat with him, and assured us that he had never relished a meal so much. Where cleanliness reigns there any one may eat. Now decide, reverend sir! we are all hungry.” The clergy- man sat down, and Stilling called his family ; but none of them would come in, not even Mar- garet herself. She filled an earthen bowl with chicken-broth for the preacher, gave him a large plate of meat and a jug of beer. Stilling him- self set it before him; the reverend gentleman ate and drank in haste, said nothing, but return- ed again to Florenburgh. ‘They then all sat down to table. Margaret said grace, and they ate with great appetite. Even the lying-in wom- an sat in Margaret’s place, with her boy at her breast; for Margaret would wait upon her chil- dren herself. She had put on a very fine white chemise, which she had worn in her bridal-days, the sleeves of which she had rolled up above the elbows. She had a stomacher and dress of fine black cloth; and her grey locks, well pow- dered with honour and age, projected from be- neath hercap. Itis really incomprehensible that during the whole meal not a word was said of the clergyman; but [ am of opinion the reason was, because father Stilling did not begin about it. Whilst they were sitting thus pleasantly at dinner, a poor woman knocked at the door. ‘She had an infant hanging at her back, wrapped in a cloth, and begged for a piece of bread. Maria hastened to give it her. The woman came in tattered and dirty clothes, which seemed, how- ever, from the cut of them, to have formerly be- longed to some gentlewoman. Father Stilling commanded that she should sit at the room-door, and that something of all should be given her. “Thou mayest offer the child some rice-pap,” said he further to Maria. She ate, and relished it exceedingly ; and after she and her child were satisfied, she thanked them with tears in her eyes, and was about to depart. ‘ No,” said old Stilling; “sit and tell us from whence you are, and why you are thus obliged to travel. I will give you a little beer to drink.” She sat down, and began as follows: “Ah, dear me!” said she, ‘ how lamentable it is that I must thus wander about! (Stilling’s daughter Maria had taken her seat not far from her; she listened with the greatest attention, and her eyes were already moistened with tears.) Alas! Iam a poor woman! Ten years ago, you folks would have thought it an honour if I had dined with you.” Wilhelm Stiling.— Surprising !” Johann Stilling —“ Unless you had been of a Stollbein disposition.” Father Stilling.—" Be still, children !—let the ‘woman speak.” Woman.—“ My father is the clergyman of Maria.—“ What is that? Your father a cler- gyman !” (drawing nearer her.) Woman.—“ O yes, certainly !—he is a clergy- man; a very rich and learned man.” Father Stilling.—“ Of what place is he the clergyman ?” Woman.—“ Of Goldingen, in the province of Barching. Yes, indeed; alas, yes.” Johann Stilling.—“‘ I must search for that oe upon the map; it cannot be far from the iihler lake, at the upper end, towards the Sep- tentrion.” Woman.—“ Ah, young gentleman! I know of no place near there called Schlendrian.” STILLING. Moaria.—* Our Johann did not say Schlendrian. What didst thou say ?” Father Stilling —‘‘Go on. Hush, children!” Woman.—‘1 was then a bonny lassie, and had many a fine opportunity to marry (Maria looked at her from head to foot), but none of them suited my father. The one was not rich enough—the other was not respectable enough— the third did not go to church often enough.” Maria.—‘1 say, Johann, what are the people called who do not go to church ?” Johann Slilling.—“ Hush, girl !—separatists.” Woman.— Well! what happened ? I clearly saw that I should have none, if I did not help myself, There was a young journeyman bar- ber—” Maria.— What’s that—a journeyman bar- ber ?” Wilhelm Stilling.—‘ Sister, ask every thing afterwards; only Jet the woman speak now. They are lads that shave off people’s beards.” Woman.—‘1 beg you will, as one may Say. My husband could perform cures in spite of the best doctor. O yes! he did many, many cures} In short, I ran off with him. We fixed our res- idence at Spelterburgh, which lies on the river Spa.” mae Stilling —“ Yes, it lies there, a few miles up, where the Milder flows into it.” Woman.--‘ Yes, that’s the place. Unfortu- nate woman thatIam! I there ascertained that my husband associated with certain people.” Maria.—* Were you married at the time ?” Woman.— No, truly! who would marry us? O certainly not! (Maria drew her chair a little further from the woman.) I would absolutely not permit my husband to associate with rogues; for although my father was only a cobbler—” On saying this, the woman packed up her child upon her back, and ran off as fast as she was able. Father Stilling, with his wife and children, could not comprehend why the woman broke off in the midst of her tale, and ran away. And really it required some knowledge of logic to perceive the reason of it. Every one gave his sentiments upon the subject, but all the reasons assigned were dubious. The most rational opin- ion, and at the same time the most probable, was, that the woman had become rather indis- posed, from having eaten too much of things she was unaccustomed to; and with this they satisfied themselves. But father Stilling, ac- cording to his custom, drew the following in- struction from the tale—that it was best to im- press religion and the love of virtue upon his children; and then, at a proper age, leave them free to choose with respect to marriage, if they only made such a choice as not to bring a real disgrace upon the family by it. Parents cer- tainly must admonish their children; but com- pulsion no longer avails, when the individual has attained to the age of maturity; he then thinks he understands every thing as well as his parents. During this wise speech, to which all present were extremely attentive, Wilhelm sat in deep meditation. He supported his cheek with one hand, and looked fixedly straight before him. “ Flum!” said he; ‘every thing that the woman has related seems to me suspicious. She said, at the beginning, that her father was a clergy- man at fa Maria.‘ At Goldingen, in the province of Barching.” STILLINGS CHILDHOOD. Wilhelm. Yes, it was there. And yet she said at the end, that her father was a cobbler.” All present struck their hands together with as- tonishment. It was now evident why the wom- an had run away; and it was prudently resolved to have cramps and bolts to every door and opening in the house, No one will take this amiss of the Stilling family, who has in a measure learned to see the connection of the thing. Doris said nothing during the whole time ; for what reason I cannot exactly say. She suckled her boy Heinrich every moment; for this was now all to her, and the boy was also fat and strong. The most experienced gossips, immediately after the birth of the child, could discover in its features a perfect resemblance to its father; and in particular they thought they had found traces, upon the upper eyelid of the left eye, of a future wart, which his father had there. However, a secret partiality must have induced all the neighbours to give this false tes- timony, for the boy possessed the mother’s fea- tures, and her tender, feeling heart, entirely. Doris fell, by degrees, into a gentle melan- choly. She had nothing in the world that any longer gave her pleasure; but still, nothing caused her vexation. She continually enjoyed a delightful sadness, and her tender heart seem- ed to dissolve itself wholly into tears, without grief or sorrow. If the sun arose beautifully, she wept, contemplated it pensively, and said, occasionally, ‘‘ How beautiful must He be that made it!” If he set, she wept again: ‘‘ There goes our soothing friend from us again,” said she often, and longed to be far away in the woods, during the twilight. But nothing affect- ed her so much as the moon; she then felt something unutterable, and often walked about whole evenings at the foot of the Geisenberg. Wilhelm almost always accompanied her, and conversed very kindly with her. They had both of them something similar in their dispositions. They could well have spared the whole world- full of people, but not the one the other; yet still they sympathised with all the misery and dis- tress of their fellow-creatures. Heinrich Stilling was almost a year and a half old, when Doris, one Sunday afternoon, re- quested her husband to walk with her to the Geisenberg castle. Wilhelm had never yet re- fused her any thing. He went with her. As soon as they entered the wood, they put their arms round each other, and went, step by step, under the shade of the trees, up the hill, accom- panied by the twittering of the birds. Doris be- gan: “What dost thou think, Wilhelm ?—shall we know each other in heaven ?” Wilhelm.—“O yes, dear Doris! Christ says of the rich man, that he knew Lazarus in Abra- ham’s bosom; and beside this, the rich man was in hell; therefore, I certainly believe we shall know each other again in eternity.” Doris.—“ O Wilhelm! how I rejoice when I think that we shall be together to all eternity, entirely without sorrow, and in unmingled heav- enly felicity and delight! I always think I could not be happy in heaven without thee. Yes, dear Wilhelm! we shall most certainly know each other there!. Now this is what I wish so heart- ily! It is God who made my soul and my heart to wish in this manner; and He would not have implanted such hopes if they were improper, or merely fanciful. Yes, I shall know thee, and 12 will seek thee out amongst all the people there, and then I shall be happy.” Wilhelm.—‘ We will let ourselves be buried together, and then we shall not have long to seek.” Doris.—* O that we might both die the same moment! But what would become of our dear boy ? Wilhelm. He would remain here, and be well brought up, and at length come to us,” Doris.—* Still, I should be very anxious about him, whether he would be pious or not.” Wilhelm. Hear me, Doris !—thou hast been a long time particularly melancholy. To say the truth, thou makest me sad likewise. Why dost thou love to be so much alone with me? My sisters believe thou art not fond of them.” Doris.—“ Yet I really love them from my heart.” Wilhelm.— Thou often weepest, as if thou wert dejected, and this gives me pain. I shall be melancholy also. Hast thou any thing on thy heart, love, that torments thee? ‘Tell it to me. | I will set thee at rest, whatever it may cost me, Doris—“ Ono! Iam not dejected, dear Wil- helm! Iam not dissatisfied. I love thee, and I love our parents and sisters; yea, I love all men. But I will tell thee how I feel. In the spring, when I see how every thing shoots forth, the leaves on the trees, the flowers and the plants, it seems to me as if it did not concern me at all; I then feel as if I were in a world to which I did not belong. But as soon as I find a yellow leaf, a faded flower, or a withered herb, my tears be- gin to flow, and I feel so comfortable I cannot tell thee; and yet IJ am never cheerful at such times. Formerly, all this made me sad, and I was never more joyful than in spring.” * Wilhelm.—“ I have no knowledge of things of this kind; however, so much is true, that it makes me very susceptible.” Whilst conversing in this manner, they came to the ruins of the castle on the side of the hill, and felt the cool breeze from the Rhine, and saw how it played with the long dry blades of grass and ivy leaves, which grew upon the fallen walls, and whistled aboutthem. ‘“ This is just the place for me,” said Doris; ‘here I could wish to dwell. Tell me once more the history of Jo- hann Hiibner, who lived in this castle. Let us meanwhile sit down on the rampart, opposite the walls. I would not venture within the walls for the world, whilst thou art relating it; for I always shudder when I hear it.” Wilhelm re- lated as follows: “Tn ancient times this castle was inhabited by robbers, who went about the country in the night, stole the people’s cattle, and drove them yonder into the court, where there was a large stable, and afterwards sold them, far off, to strangers, The last robber that dwelt here was Johann Hiibner. He wore armour, and was stronger than any other man in the whole country. He had only one eye, and a large curly beard and hair. In the daytime he sat with his servants, who were all very strong men, in the corner yonder, where thou seest the broken window-hole; there they had a room; there they sat and guzzled beer. Johann Hubner saw, with his one eye, very far through the whole country; and when. ever he perceived a horseman, he called out, ‘Halloa! there goes a horseman on a very fine horse—Halloa!’ Then they lay in wait for the horseman, took his horse away, and slew him. 12 HEINRICH But there was a prince of Dillenburgh, called Black Christian, a very strong man, who was always hearing of Johann Hubner’s robberies, for the peasants came and complained of him. This black prince had a prudent servant, called Hanns Flick, whom he sent over the country in order to spy out this Johann Hibner. ‘The prince himself lay behind in the Giller, which thou seest yonder, and kept himself concealed there with his horsemen; and the peasants brought him bread, butter, and cheese. Hanns Flick did not know Johann Hiibner; he roved about the country and inquired for him. At length he came to a smithy, where horses were shod. There were many wagon-wheels against the wall, which were there to be covered; a man had Jeaned himself with his back against them, who had only one eye, and had on an iron jerkin. Hanns Flick went to him, and said, ‘ God save thee, thou iron-jerkin man with one eye; is not thy name Johann Hubner of Geisenberg? The man answered, ‘Johann Hiibner of Geisenberg lies on the wheel.’ Hanns Flick understood him to mean the wheel on the scatfold, and said, ‘Is that lately ? ‘Yes,’ answered the man, ‘this very day.’ Hanns Flick did not fully believe him, and continued at the smithy, and watched the man who lay upon the wheel. The man whispered to the smith to shoe his horse the wrong way, so that the forepart of the shoe was laced behind. The smith did so, and Johann Liibner rode away. As he mounted his horse, he said to Hanns Flick, ‘God save thee, brave fellow! Tell thy master he ought to send me men that can fight, and not eaves-droppers. Hanns Flick stood still, and saw him ride over the field into the forest, and then ran after him, to see where he stopped. He would have followed his track, but Johann Hitibner rode up and down, across and athwart, so that Hanns Flick soon lost the track of the horse; for where he had ridden, the track was in a contrary direction; he there- fore soon lost him, and knew not what had be- come of him. Atlength, however, Hanns Flick got sight of him, as he was lying yonder, with his men, on the heath in the forest, guarding the cattle they had stolen. It was in the night, by moonshine, He ran and told it to Prince Chris- tian, who with his men rode silently below, through the forest. They bound moss under the horses’ feet, got near him, sprang upon him, and they fought together. Prince Christian and Jo- hann Hubner struck one another upon the iron helmets and cuirasses, so that they rang again, till at length Johann Hiibner was slain, and the prince took possession of the castle. They bu- ried Johann Hubner down in the corner yonder, and the prince laid much wood about the great tower, which they also undermined. It fell in the evening, when the 'Tiefenbach people milked their cows; the whole country about trembled with the fall. ‘Thou seest yonder the long heap of stones down the hill; that is the tower, as it fell. Between eleven and twelve at night, Jo- hann Hubner, with his one eye, still haunts tltis place. He sits ona black horse, and rides about the rampart. Old Neuser, our neighbour, has seen him.” Doris trembled and shuddered whenever a bird flew upwards out of the bush. “I am always fond of hearing the tale,” said she, “ when I am thus sitting here; and if I were to hear it ten times, I should not be tired of it. Let us walk about the rampart a little.” They went together upon the rampart, and Doris sang: STILLING. ‘““ Three stars shone over a regal dome, In which three maidens abode ; Their father was gone away far from home, And on a white horse he rode. Star, shine, portentous of wo! ‘¢« Seest thou not yet the little white horse, Dear sister, down in the dale ? ‘T see the white horse, pursuing its course, And trotting along the vale.’ Star, shine, portentous of wo! ““ 54 HEINRICH his father rose up, pressed his hand, and said, “ Heinrich, take leave of no one; go where thy Heavenly Father beckons thee. The holy an- gels will accompany thee wherever thou goest ; write to me often how it fares with thee.” He then hastened out of the door. Stilling became firm, took courage, and com- mended himself to God; he felt that he was en- tirely set at liberty frofh all his friends. No further impediment remained; and he waited with desire for Easter-Monday, which he had appointed for his departure :—he told no one of his intention, nor visited any one, but remained at home. However, he could not refrain from going once more into the church-yard. He was unwilling to do so by day: he therefore went thither in the evening before Easter-day, by the light of the full moon, and visited father Stilling’s and Doris’s grave, sat down alittle while upon each, and wept silent tears. Hissensations were inex- pressible. He felt something within him which said, ‘‘ Were these two still alive, it would fare very differently with me in the world!” At length he took a formal leave of both the graves, and of the venerable remains which were de- caying within them, and went his way. The following Easter-Monday morning, which was the twelfth of April, 1762, he settled his ac- count with Bailiff Keilhof, from whom he re- ceived something more than four rix-dollars. This money he put into his pocket, went up into his room, packed up his three ragged shirts, (the fourth he had on,) a pair of old stockings, a night-cap, together with his scissors and thim- ble, in a portmanteau ; then put on his clothes, which consisted ofa pair of middling good shoes, black woollen stockings, leather breeches, black cloth waistcoat, a tolerably good brown coat of coarse cloth, and a large hat after the fashion of those days. He then turned up his straight brown hair, took his long thorn-stick in his hand, and walked to Salen, where he provided himself with a travelling-pass, and went out of a gate which lies towards the north-west. He fell into. ahigh road, without knowing whither it would lead him; he followed it, and it brought him in the evening to a large village which lies on the borders of the province of Salen. He then went into an inn, and wrote a letter to his father at Leindorf, in which he took a tender leave of him, and promised him, as soon, as he should settle himself anywhere, to write to him very circumstantially. Amongst the various people who sat drinking in the house, there were several carriers, a kind of persons who are the most suitable for giving information respecting the roads. Stilling asked them whith- er that road led ;—they answered, to Schénen- thal. Now he had heard much in his life-time of this celebrated commercial town; he therefore determined to travel thither, and inquire the names of the places upon the road, and their distances from each other. down in his pocket-book, and betook himself quietly to rest. STILLING. The next morning, after having drunk coffee and eaten his breakfast, he commended himself to God, and proceeded on his journey ; but it was so foggy, that he could scarcely see more than a few paces before him. On arriving there- fore, at an extensive heath, where there were many roads near each other, he always followed that which seemed to him the most trodden. But between ten and eleven o’clock, when the fog dispersed, and the sun broke through, he found that his path led towards the east. He was much alarmed; and walked ona little, un- til he came to an eminence, from whence he saw the village in which he had passed the night, again before him. He therefore turned about ; and as the sky was clear, he found the high road, which, in the course of an hour, led him to a large hill. Here he sat down on the green turf, and look- ed towards the south-east. He there saw in the distance the old Geisenberg castle, the Giller, the Heights, and other well-known districts. A deep sigh arose in his breast, and tears flowed down his cheeks. He drew out his tablets and wrote :— ‘With melting eyes I look once more To yonder well-known smiling hills ; Oh, when I view the landscape o’er,— The rocks, the fields, the woods and rills, The lofty heights, the light and shade, Which paradise around me made.— I feel, as when in pleasing dreams, The purest zephyrs breathe around; As though I roved by Eden’s streams, And the first Adam near me found As though I living water drank, And by the brook unconscious sank. My thoughts then, suddenly, again Awake me, like the thunder’s roar Descending to the distant plain, Whilst forked lightnings blaze all o’er. Scared by the flash, the roe-buck starts, And deep into the thicket darts. My spirit sinks to grief’s dark hole, And looks for aid both near and far; No light then penetrates my soul, No longer shines a single star ;— I call so loud, the rocks resound ; A thousand echoes swell the sound. At length there shines a gleam of light— Mankind’s great Father beckons me ; Ye mountains, bloom in beauty bright, Though you I never more may see Till the last flash earth’s centre shakes, And one grand conflagration makes ! Then, with immortal verdure crown’d, Vl seek your much-loved heights again For father Stilling look around, With Doris your tall summits gain; And in those bowers she held so dear, Clothed in white robes will I appear. Farewell !—I now direct my view ‘To hills and lands to me unknown And look no longer back to you, Until my earthly course is run. My Saviour, guide me all the day, Whilst walking on this unknown way !” Stilling now rose up, wiped away his tears, All this he marked | took his staff in his hand, his portmanteau on his back, and wandered over the hill down into the vale below. - STILLINGS WANDERINGS. 55 HEINRICH STILLING’S WANDERINGS. CHAPTER VIL. As Heinrich Stilling descended the hill into the valley, and lost sight of his native province, his heart became lighter; he felt that all the con- nections and relations in which he had hitherto suffered so much, were at an end; therefore he breathed more freely, and was well contented. ‘The weather was incomparably beautiful ; at noon he drank a glass of beer at an inn which stood solitarily by the road-side, and ate a sand- wich with it; he then proceeded on his way, which led him through waste and desert places, and brought him in the evening, after sunset, to a miserable village, lying in the fens, in a nar- row valley, amid the bushes; the dwellings were all miserable huts, and stood more in the earth than uponit. It had not been his intention to pass the night at this place, but two leagues beyond it; having, however, strayed from his path in the morning, he could not proceed further. He inquired at the first house he came to, whether there was any one in the village that lodged travellers. A house was pointed out to him; he went thither, and asked whether he could pass the night there. The woman an- swered in the affirmative. He went into the room, sat down, and laid aside his portmanteau. Her husband now entered; some little children collected round the table, and the woman brought a lamp, which she hung up in the middle of the room by a hempen string; every thing looked so poor, and, to say the truth, so suspicious, that Stilling began to feel apprehensive and afraid, and would rather have slept in the open air;- this, however, was quite unnecessary, for he possess- ed nothing that was worth stealing. Meanwhile they brought him an earthen dish with sour- krout, a piece of bacon with it, and a couple of eggs uponit. He ate it with a relish, and lay down upon the straw which had been spread for himinthe room. He slept but little before mid- night, chiefly from fear. The landlord and his wife slept also in the same room, in an alcove. Towards twelve o’clock, he heard the woman say to her husband, “ Arnold, art thou asleep ?” “No,” answered he, “Iam notasleep.” Stilling listened, but purposely drew his breath strongly, that they might believe he was sleeping soundly. ** What kind of a man may this be?” said the woman. Arnold replied, “God knows! I have been thinking abouf it all the evening; he did not say much; dost thou think all is right with him ?” “Do not immediately think ill of people,” an- swered Trina; “he looks honest; who knows| how many troubles he may have already passed | through? I really pity him; as soon as he enter- ed the door, he seemed to me so melancholy; may the Lord our God preserve him! I can see that he has something on his heart.” “Thou art in the right, Trina!” rejoined Ar- nold; “God forgive me for being suspicious! I was just thinking of the schoolmaster from the’ province of Salen, who slept here two or three years ago; he was dressed in the same manner, and we heard, afterwards, that he was a coiner.” “ Arnold,” said Trina, ‘thou art quite unable to know people by countenances. That man looked so black, and had such a dark expression in his eyes, and dared not look at one; but this one appears kind and friendly; he has certainly a good conscience.” “Well, well,” concluded Arnold, “we will commend him to the Lord our God, who will take care of him, if he is pious.” The good people now fell asleep. Stilling meanwhile was well satisfied upon his straw; he felt the spirit of Stilling breathe around him, and slept as sweetly till the morning as if he had Jain upon eider-down. On awaking, he saw that his landlord and landlady were already dress- ing; he looked smilingly at them both, and wish- ed them a good morning. They asked him how he had slept. He answered, “ After midnight, very well!” “You were certainly very tired yesterday evening,” said Trina; ‘“‘ you looked so dejected.” Stilling replied, “Dear friends, it was not because I was so weary; but I have suffered much in my life-time, and on that ac- count look more melancholy than I am; besides which, I must confess I was a little alarmed, lest I should not be with pious people.” “ Yes,” said Arnold, “ you are with those that fear God, and would gladly obtain salvation; had you had great riches with you, they would have been safe with us.” Stilling tendered him his right hand, and said, with the most tender mien, “ God bless you! we are then of.the same sentiments.” “Trina,” continued Arnold, ‘make us a goed cup of tea; fetch some of the best cream, aud we three will breakfast together; we may per- haps never meet again.” ‘The woman was ac- tive and cheerful, and gladly did what her hus- band told her. They then sat down to breakfast, and all three were at home with each other. Stilling overflowed with friendship and suscep- tibility; it pained him to leave the good people, and he shed tears on parting with them. Strength- ened afresh, he proceeded on his way. After travelling five leagues, he arrived, just at noon, at a large village, which lay in a pleas- ant country; here he inquired for a good inn, and was shown one, by the road-side, into which he went, entered the traveller’s room, and asked for something to eat. An old man was sitting by the stove, the cut of whose clothes indicated something respectable, but their present condi- tion showed that he must have descended far be- low his former circumstances. There were be- sides, two youths and a girl present, whose deep mourning-dress indicated the loss of a near rela- tive. The girl attended to the kitchen, and ap- peared modest and cleanly. Stilling took his seat opposite the old man; whose attention his open countenance and friend- ly deportment excited, so that he entered into conversation with him. They soon became in- timate, and Stilling related his whole history to him. Conrad Brauer— for such was the old man’s name—was astonished at it, and prophe- sied him many good things. The worthy man in return was anxious to tell him his own fate also, which he related to every one who express- ed a desire to hear him; he accordingly did so before, during, and after dinner. The young people, who were his brother’s children, had probably heard it a hundred times over; they therefore paid no particular attention to it, yet occasionally confirmed any thing that seemed in- 56 credible. Stilling however listened the more at- tentively, for narrating was peculiarly his fa- vorite employment. Conrad Brauer began in the following manner: “T am the eldest of three brothers; the second of them is a rich merchant of this place; and the youngest was the father of these children, whose mother died some years ago, but my broth- er only a few weeks since. When I was young, { devoted my attention to the manufacture of woollen cloths; and as we inherited nothing from our parents, I instructed my two brothers in the same trade. However, the youngest mar- ried well, by which he came into possession of this house; he therefore gave up the trade, and became innkeeper. { and my second brother, meanwhile, continued the manufactory. I was fortunate, and with the blessing of God, became prosperous in trade, so that I attained riches and affluence. I let my second brother enjoy it rich- ly. Yes, God knows I did! “My brother, meanwhile, commenced a sin- gular courtship, There dwelt in the neighbour- hood an old woman, who was at least sixty years old, and besides that, uncommonly ugly; so that, on account of her intolerable unclean- Jiness, one would not, so to speak, have taken hold of her with the tongs. This old virgin was very rich; but at the same time, so covet- ous, that she scarcely ate bread and water suf- ficient to keep body and soul together. It was commonly said, that she had put all her money into a sack, which she had hidden in some very secret place. My brother went to her, and tried to rekindle the extinguished fire of this person ; he succeeded according to his wish; she fell in love with him, and he with her, so that betroth- ment and marriage soon followed. But it was long before he could discover the retreat of the household god; however, my worthy brother at length succeeded in this also—he found it, and joyfully carried it to a place of safety; this grieved my goad sister-in-law to such a degree that she fell into a consumption and died, to the great joy of my brother. “He held out faithfully during the usual time of mourning; but in the mean time privately sought for a young lady, who might be about as wealthy as he had so innocently become. In this also he was successful; and he began to lay out his money to profit, and that too at my expense; for he traded in woollen cloth, and deprived me of all my customers, by offering his goods al- ways cheaper than I did. On this, I began to go back, and my affairs grew worse every day. He soon saw this, and, assuming a greater de- gree of kindness towards me, promised to ad- vance me as much money as I should require. I was foolish enough to believe him. When he thought it was time, he took away every thing that I had in the world; my wife grieved her- self to death, and I am now living in misery, penury, and sorrow. He devoured my late brother, who dwelt in this house, in the same manner.” “ Yes, that is true,” said the three children, and wept. Stilling listened to this tale with horror; he. said, “‘He must be one of the most detestable men under the sun; he will have to pay for it dearly in the next world.” “Yes,” said old Brauer; “but such people eare little about that.” HEINRICH STILLING. “He that lets God the Almighty rule.” The old man folded his hands, and sang most heartily, so that the tears rolled down his cheeks ;. as did also the three young people. Suilling, after paying for what he had consu- med, gave his hand to each of them, and took leave. All of them were friendly with him, and accompanied him to the front-door, where they all four again gave him their hands, and com- mended him to the divine protection. He proceeded forward on the road to Sché- nenthal, and was heartily pleased with al) the good people he had hitherto met with. I wilt call this village Holtzheim, for I shall be obli- ged to revert to it in the sequel of my history. From this place to Schénenthal, he had only to travel five leagues; but having stayed so long at Holtzheim, he was unable to reach it that evening; he therefore remained a good league on this side, during the night, in the little town of Rasenheim. The people where he lodged were not suitable company for him, and conse- quently he continued silent and reserved. The next morning he set out upon the road to Schénenthal. On ascending the hill, and re- viewing the incomparable town and the paradi- siacal valley, he was delighted, and sat down on the grass surveying the whole for awhile; at the same time the wish arose in his inmost soul, ‘‘O God! if I might but end my life there!” He now began to consider what he intended todo, Disgust af the trade of a tailor induced him to think of a situation with some merchant ; but as he knew no one at Schénenthal to whom he could address himself, it occurred to him that Mr. Dahlheim was preacher in the village of Dornfeld, which lies three quarters of a league up the valley, eastward of Schonenthal; he therefore immediately determined to go thither and discover himself to him. He arose, went slowly down the hill, in order to be able to take a good view of every thing, until he reached the town. He immediately perceived what prosperity and affluence manufactories and commerce may procure to a place; the sumptuous palaces of the merchants, the neat houses of the tradesmen and mechanics, together with the great degree of cleanliness which manifested itself even in the clothes of the servant-women and the lower classes, quite charmed him; the place pleased him exceedingly. He went through the whole town, and up the vailey, until he arrived at Dorn- feld. He found Mr. Dahlheim at home, and briefly stated his circumstances to him; but the worthy clergyman knew ofgno situation for him. Stilling had not yet much experience, otherwise he might have easily thought that a person is not taken in that manner from the road into mer- cantile service; for Mr. Dahlheim, although he was from the province of Salen, knew neither Stilling nor his family. He therefore returned to Schénenthal, and was half willing to engage himself as a journeyman tailor; but perceiving, as he passed by a tailor’s shop, that it was the eustom there to sit cross- legged upon the table, he was again deterred, for he had never sat otherwise than in a chair before the table. While he was thus walking up and down the streets, he saw a horse with two bas- kets upon its back, and a tolerably well-dressed man standing by it, who was tying on the bas- kets. As the man’s appearance pleased him, After dinner, Stilling went to a pianoforte, | Stilling asked him whether he was leaving town which stood against the wall, and played and| that evening. The man said, “ Yes; I am the sang the hymn, STILLINGS WANDERINGS. Schauberg carrier, and shall set off immediate- ly.” Stilling recollected that the young Mr. Stollbein, the son of the preacher at F'loren- burgh, was minister there, and that several jour- neymen-tailors from Salen resided in the same place; he therefore resolved to go thither with the carrier, to which the latter willingly assent- ed. Schauberg lies three leagues to the south- westward of Schénenthal. Stilling sought on the way to become intimate with his companion. If it had been the honest “ Catrier of Wandsheck,”* the two would have had an agreeable conversation together; how- ever, he was not; although the Schauberg car- Tier might have been one of the most worthy among many, for he took Stilling’s portmanteau on his horse without charging for it; so that al- though he was no sentimental carrier, yet he was a good, honest man, which is saying much. As soon as they arrived at Schauberg, he re- paired to the Rev. Mr. Stollbein’s house; the latter had been well acquainted with his grand- father, as well as his late mother; he also knew his father, for they had been boys together. Stoll- bein was heartily pleased at seeing his country- man; he advised him immediately to apply him- self to his trade, that he might earn his liveli- hood; and meanwhile, he would take pains to procure him some decent situation. He sent in- stantly for a journeyman tailor, of whom he in- quired whether there was any employment to be obtained in the town for the stranger. “OQ yes!” answered the former; “he comes as if he had been sent for; Mr. Nagel is in great want of a workman.” Stollbein sent the servant- maid thither with Stilling, and he was joyfully received and accepted. In the evening, when he went to bed, he re- flected upon his change of circumstances, and the faithful providence of his heavenly Father. Without purposing whither to go, he had left his native province; Providence had graciously guided him during three days, and on the even- ing of the third day he was again provided for. It now became apparent to him, what a great truth it was which his father had so often told him, “a trade is a valuable gift of God, and has a golden foundation.” He was vexed at him- self for being so much an enemy to this voca- tion; he prayed heartily to God, thanked him for his gracious guidance, and laid himself down to sleep. He rose early in the morning, and placed him- self in the workshop. Mr. Nagel had no other dete bap besides him; but his wife, his two aughters, and two boys, all assisted in making clothes. Stilling’s dexterity and uncommon ability in his trade very soon procured him the favor of his master; and his affability and good disposi- tion, the love and friendship of his wife and chil- dren. Scarcely had he been three days there, when he felt himself at home; and as he had neither reproach nor persecution to fear, he was for the time, so to speak, perfectly satisfied. The first Sunday afternoon he devoted to let- ter-writing, and informed his father, his uncle, and other good friends, of his present circum- stances, in order to set the minds of his family at ease: for it may be supposed that they were anx- ious about him, until they knew he was earning his bread. He soon received friendly answers to these letters, in which he was exhorted to hu- * A much-esteemed publication which bears that title. 57 mility and integrity, and warned against danger from associating with unsafe people. Meanwhile, he became known throughout Schauberg. On the Sunday forenoon, when he attended church, he always went up to the or- gan-gallery; and as the organist was extreme- ly old and inexpert, Stilling felt confident that during the singing and on leaving church he could play better; for although he had never learned to play on the piano scientifically, but merely from his own reflection and practice, yet he played church-music very correctly from the notes, and perfectly in four parts; he there- fore requested the organist to let him play; the latter was heartily glad of his as~istance, and permitted him to perform on all occasions. Now, as he was fond of continually touching sixths and thirds in the preludes and interludes, and of playing the softest and most pathetic keys, by which the ear of the vulgar and of those who do not understand music is most affected; and because, when the service was over, he always played an harmonious vocal piece, which was either tender or melancholy, and in which the flute-stop with the tremulant was almost always used—every one was altentive to the singular organist; and most of the people stood before the church until he came down from the organ and out of the church-door; when they laid their heads together, and asked each other who it could possibly be. At length it was generally known that it was Mr. Nagel’s journeyman. When any one came to Mr. Nagel, particular- ly respectable people, merchants, men in oflice, or even learned men, who had any orders to give respecting clothing, they entered into conversa- tion with Stilling regarding his performance on the organ; and one word led to another. At that time, he mingled many scraps of Latin in his discourse, particularly when conversing with people whom he supposed to understand Latin; this was wontto astonish them all, not so much because of his wondrous learning, as because he sat at his needle, and yet spoke in such a man- ner; which, united in one person, was something unheard-of, particularly in Schauberg. All men, whether high or low, who became acquainted with him, loved him; and this was peculiarly Stilling’s element: where he was unknown, he was silent, and where he was not loved, melan- choly. Mr. Nagel and his whole family honor- ed him in such a manner that he was more the ~ master than the journeyman in the house. The Sunday afternoon was a most agreeable season to them all. At such times they went to a beautiful room in the upper part of the house, the prospect from which was wuly delightful; Stilling there read to them out of a book which Madame Nagel had inherited; it was an old folio, with many wood-cuts; the title page was lost. It treated of the history and wars of the Netherlands, under the government of the Duch- ess of Parme, the Duke of Alba, the great Com- meter, &c., together with the wonderful adven- tures of Prince Maurice of Nassau. Stilling acted, at the same time, the part of a professor who reads lectures ; he explained, he related cir- cumstances between whiles, and his auditory were allattention. Narrating had always been his delight, and practice at length makes the master. Towards evening, he went with his master, or rather his friend Nagel, to take a walk about the town; and as it is situated on an eminence scarcely five leagues from the Rhine, the prom- |enade was incomparable, on account of the 58 beautiful prospect. Towards the west, this mag- nificent stream was seen for a considerable dis- tance in the rays of the evening sun, hastening majestically to the Netherlands; round about lay a thousand bushy hills, where either flourish- ing farms, or the sumptuous residences of mer- chants peeped forth from between the green trees. On these occasions Nagel’s and Stilling’s conversation was cordial and intimate; they poured out their souls to each other, and Stilling “went to bed as well pleased as he had formerly done at Zellberg. The Rev. Mr. Stollbein was exceedingly grat- ified that his countryman Stilling was so gener- ally beloved, and gave him hopes that in time he should be able to provide for him respectably. Thus pleasantly passed thirteen weeks; and I can afiirm, that Sulling, during that time, was neither ashamed of his trade, nor had any par- ticular desire to forsake it. At the end of that time, about the middle of June, he was passing one Sunday afternoon through a street in the town of Schauberg; the sun shone pleasantly, and the sky was partially covered with light clouds; he was neither meditating deeply, nor had he any thing else of a particular nature in his thoughts. He accidentally looked upwards, and with this look an unknown power penetrated his soul; he felt inwardly happy, his whole body trembled, and he could scarcely keep himself from sinking to the ground. From that time, he felt an invincible inclination to live and die en- tirely for the glory of God and the good of his fellow-men; his love to the Father of men, and to the divine Redeemer, as well as to all men, was at that moment so great, that he would gladly have sacrificed his life, had it been re- quired. He felt, at the same time, an irresisti- ble impulse to watch over his thoughts, words, and works, that they might all be useful, agree- able, and acceptable to God. He made upon the spot a firm and irrevocable covenant with God, to resign himself henceforth entirely to his gui- dance, and cherish no more vain wishes; but that if it should please God that he should con- tinue a tradesman all his life long, he would will- ingly and joyfully assent to it. He therefore turned about, and went home, and told no one of this circumstance; but con- tinued as before, except that he spoke less, and more cautiously, which made kim still more be- loved. d This circumstance is a real truth. I leave it to men of genius, philosophers, and psychologists to make what they please of it; Iam well aware what it is that thus converts a man, and so en- tirely changes him. Three weeks after this took place, Stilling went on the Sunday afternoon to church; afier service, it occurred to him at the church-door, to pay a visit to the schoolmaster of the place; he was astonished at himself that he had not done so before; he therefore went directly to him. The latter was a worthy and respectable man; he was already acquainted with Stilling, and was glad to see him; they drank tea together, and afterwards smoked a pipe of tobacco. At length, the schoolmaster began, and asked wheth- er he would not like to enter upon a good place. His desire for it was instantly again as great as it had ever been. ‘O yes!” answered he; “I should be heartily glad to do so.” The school- master continued, ‘ You come as if you had been sent for: I have received a letter to-day from a wealthy merchant, who lives half a league be- HEINRICH STILLING. yond Holtzheim, in which he requests me to point out to him a good domestic tutor. I did. not think of you, until you had entered; it now occurs to me, that you would be the man for him; if you will accept the situation, there is no doubt you will obtain it.” Stilling was heart- ily glad of it, and believed firmly that the hour ef his deliverance was come; he therefore said, it had always been his aim to serve God and his neighbour with his few talents, and that he should seize this opportunity with both hands, because it. might tend to his advancement. “ There is no doubt of that,” rejoined the school- master; ‘‘itdepends solely upon your behaviour, and in time you will certainly prosper, and ob- tain preferment; I will write next post-day to Mr. Hochberg, and you will soon be sent for.” After some further discourse, Stilling returned home. He immediately related this event to Mr. Stollbein, as also to Mr. Nagel and his family. The clergyman was glad, but Mr. Nagel and his household were sorry; they employed all their eloquence to retain him with them, but it was in vain; his trade was again odious to him, and the time seemed tedious until he reached his desti- nation. However, he now felt something with- in him which continually opposed such an en- gagement; this ““urknown something” convin- ced him in his mind that his present inclination again proceeded from the old corrupt motive. His new conscience, if I may so speak, had awoke in him only since the Sunday above mentioned, when he experienced such a power- ful inward change. This conviction pained him; he felt that it was true—but his inclina- tion was too strong, he could not resist it; be-' sides this, a species of serpent had insinuated itself into him, which sought to help itself by the aid of reason, suggesting to him as follows: “ Ffath God indeed determined that thou shouldst remain eternally sitting at the needle, and bury thy talents? By no means! thou must lay out thy talent to usury the first opportunity ; do not let thyself be persuaded to the contrary; itis a mere hypochondriacal phantom.” Conscience then again whispered, “‘ But how often hast thou been desirous of laying out thy talent in the in- struction of youth, and how has it then fared with thee?” 'The serpent knew how to object to this by replying, ‘Those were purifications, in- tended to fit thee for important employments.” Stilling gave credence to the serpent, and con- science was silent. The following Sunday, a messenger came from Mr. Hochberg to fetch Stilling. All wept at his departure; but he left them with joy. On arriving at Holtzheim, they went to old Brauer, who had related his history to Stilling on his first passing through the village; he told the honest old man his renewed good-fortune; but the latter did not, as it seemed, particularly re- joice at it; however, he said, “ This is, for you, a good beginning.” Stilling imagined the man might have his reasons for saying so. After proceeding half a league further, they reached Mr, Hochberg’s house. It lay in a lit- tle pleasant valley by a beautiful brook, not far from the high-road by which Stilling had travel- led. On entering the house, Madame Hochberg came out of the parlour. She was splendidly dressed, and a lady of uncommon beauty. She saluted Stilling in a friendly manner, and told him to go into the parlour. He went in, and found an excellently furnished and beautifully- papered apartment. ‘Two fine-looking boys en- STILLING’S WANDERINGS. tered, with a pretty girl; the boys were dressed in scarlet clothes, in the hussar fashion; but the girl quite in the style of a princess. The good children came, in order to pay their respects to their new tutor; they made their obeisances as they had been taught, and stepped towards him to kiss his hand. Now such a thing had never. before happened to Stilling in his whole life; he knew neither how to act nor what to say; they seized his hand, but as he held the hollow of it to them, they were obliged to take the trouble of turning it about, in order to press their little mouths upon the back of it, Stilling now per- ceived how he had to behave on the occasion; but the children skipped away again, and were glad that they had finished their task. Mr. Hochberg and his old father-in-law were gone to church, while his lady was occupied in making her domestic arrangements in the kitch- en. Stilling was therefore alone in the room; he clearly saw what was requisite here, and that he was defective in two essential things, in order to be private tutor at Mr. Hochberg’s. He was entirely ignorant of the science of politeness; for although he had not been brought up in stu- pid rudeness, yet he had never made a bow in all his life—every thing had been hitherto ver- bal salutation, and a shake of the hand. His Janguage was his native dialect, in which, at the most, he could only honor a person with the lit- tle word “You.” And secondly, his clothes were not fashionable, nor even good, but coarse and much worn. He had earned, it is true, eight guilders at Mr. Nagel’s, but what was that in such want of every thing! For two guilders he had purchased a pair of new shoes, a hat for two more, a shirt for two, and two he had in his pocket. But all this outlay was scarcely visible upon him; he immediately felt that he would be daily ashamed; he had also hourly to learn, by attention, a more polite behaviour, and to en- deavour by his faithful diligence, ability, and good conduct, to gain the favor of his employers, so that they might gradually help him out of his necessities, Mr. Hochberg, at length, also made his ap- pearance, for it was noon. He united in one person every thing that can be called dignity and mercantile respectability. He was a good-look- ing man, tall, and rather corpulent; he had a very round face, of a brown complexion, with large jet-black eyes, and rather thick lips; and when he spoke, two rows of teeth like alabaster always showed themselves; his gait and pos- ture were perfectly Spanish, but I must at the Same time confess there was nothing affected in it, but all was natural to him. On entering the room, he looked at Stilling, just as great prin- ces are wont to look at any one. This look pen- etrated Stilling through and through, perhaps as forcibly as that did which he nine years after- wards felt in the presence of one of the greatest prinees of Germany ; and his knowledge of the world at that time, was probably in the same pro- portion as Hochberg with this excellent prince. After this look, Mr. Hochberg nodded at Still- ing, and said, “ Servitewr, monsieur 2” Stilling immediately collected himself, bowed, as well as he could, and said, “ Your servant, worthy sir!” To confess the truth, he had studied for an hour over this compliment; but as he could not know before-hand what Hochberg would say further, there was an end to it, as well as to his dexterity. Mr. ilochberg paced the room a few 59 times ; he then looked at Stilling again, and said, “ Are you resolved to serve with me as a pre- ceptor ?” Shilling. —“ Yes.” e Hochberg.—* Do you understand languages 2” Siilling.—“ Latin, pretty well.” Hochberg.—* Bon, monsieur! You do not in- deed require it, but the connoissance of it is most essential in orthography. Do you understand arithmetic also 2?” Stilling.—‘ I have exercised myself in geom- etry, for which arithmetic is requisite; | have also studied a little in dialling and mathemat- 1S Hochberg. — Eh bien! that’s clever; that pleas- es me. I will give you, together with board and lodging, twenty-five guilders a year.” Stilling was satisfied with it, although it seem- ed to him rather too little; he therefore said, “I shall be content, with what you may add to it; and I hope you will give me what I may de serve.” Hochberg.—“ Oui; your conduite will deter- mine how I may act in that respect.” They now went todinner. Stilling saw here also how much he had‘still to learn before he could bring meat and drink to his mouth @ la mode. But notwithstanding all these difficulties, he felt within him a secret joy, on being at length elevated from the dust, and introduced into the circle of respectable people, for which he had so much longed. All that he saw, which apper- tained to propriety of behaviour and good man- ners, he observed most minutely; he even exer- cised himself in making proper obeisances, when he was alone in his chamber, when no one could see him. He regarded his present situation as a school, where the opportunity was afforded him of learning decorum and politeness. The next day he began to atiend to the tuition of the two boysand the girl; he had great pleas- ure in the children, for they were well brought up, and particularly very obliging towards their teacher, and this sweetened all his labor. A few days after, Mr. Hochberg set off for the fair. His departure grieved Stilling, for he was the only one that could converse with him; the rest spoke always upon such subjects as were en- tirely indifferent to him. Thus passed some weeks very pleasantly, without Stilling’s having any thing to wish for, except that he might at length be provided with better clothes. He wrote an account of this change in his circumstances to his father, and received a pleasing reply. . Mr. Hochberg returned at Michaelmas. Still- ing was glad of his arrival; but this joy was not of long duration. A total change gradually took place, which rendered his situation painful to him. Mr. and Mrs. Hochberg had thought that their preceptor had still clothes at Schauberg. But when they saw, at length, that he had really brought all he had with him, they began to think meanly of him, and to mistrust him; they lock- ed every thing up in his presence, were reserved, and he perceived from their conversation that they looked upon him as a vagabond. Now there was nothing in the world more repugnant to Stilling than to be suspected of the slightest breach of trust, and therefore this circumstance was quite intolerable to him. It is likewise in- conceivable how the good people could fall upon such a satanic idea. However, it is most prob- able thdt some, one of the servants was unfaith- ful, who sought to transfer the suspicion to him, 60 behind his back; and the worst of it was, they did not openly make any charge against him, which deprived him of all opportunity of defend- _ ing himself. ; By degrees, they made his duties more diffi- cult. As soon as he arose in the morning, he went down into the parlour; they then drank coffee, which was over by seven o’clock, and he was obliged immediately to accompany the chil- dren into the school-room, which consisted of a little chamber, four feet wide and ten feet long; he did not come out of it till between twelve and two o’clock, when he was called to dinner; and directly after that, he went in again until four, when they drank tea; immediately after tea it was said again, ‘ Now, children, to school!” and then he did not leave it again before nine o’clock, when supper was served; after which he went to bed. In this manner, he had not a moment for him- self, except on Sundays; and these he also spent sorrowfully, because, on account of his want of clothes, he could no longer go to the door, much less to church. If he had continued at Schau- berg, Mr. Nagel would by degrees have sufh- ciently provided for him, for he had, in fact, made remote preparations for so doing. A. three-headed monster was now really let joose upon poor Stilling. The most extreme poverty, a continual incarceration or imprison- ment, and thirdly, an insufferable mistrust, and the extreme contempt for him which resulted from it. Towards Martinmas, all his susceptibilities awoke, his eyes opened, and he saw the blackest melancholy approaching him like a legion of devils. He called aloud to God so that it might have been heard from pole to pole, but there was no longer any feeling of consolation; he could not even once think of God so that his heart might have participated in it; and this dreadful torment he had never before been acquainted with, even by name, much less ever experienced the least of it. Besides this, he had not about him a single faithful soul to whom he could com- municate his circumstances; nor had he clothes to seek for such a friend—they were torn, and time was not even allowed him to repair them. He thought at the very commencement, that he would not long be able to hold out under such circumstances; and yet they daily grew worse. His master and mistress, and every one else, troubled themselves as little about him as if he had not been in the world, although they were well satisfied with his tuition. As Christmas drew near, his painful situa- tion increased. The whole of the day he was quite stiff and reserved; but in the evening, about ten o’clock, when he retired to his chamber, his tears began to flow, he trembled and shook like a malefactor who is about to be broken on the wheel; and when he was lying in bed, he struggled in such a manner with his mental tor- ment, that the whole bed, and even the glass in the windows shook, till he fell asleep. It was _ still very fortunate for him that he was abletto sleep; but when he awoke in the morning, and ‘he sun shone upon his bed, he was horrified, and was again stiff and cold; the beautiful sun seemed to him nothing else than the wrathful eye of God, which, like a flaming world, threat- ened to hurl down thunder and lightning upon him. But all the day long the heavens appeared red to him, and he started at the sight of every living being, as if it had been a ghost; while, HEINRICH STILLING. on the contrary, it would have been a joy and refreshment to him to have watched in some gloomy abyss, between corpses and terrible ob- ects. ; At length he found time, during the holidays, to give his clothes a thorough repair; he turned his coat, and put every thing to rights as well as he could. Poverty is the mother of invention; and he covered his deficiencies in such a manner that he could at least go a few times to church at Holtzheim, without being ashamed; but he had become so pale and thin that he could no longer cover his teeth with his lips; the features of his face were dreadfully disfigured by sorrow, his eyebrows were raised up very high, and his forehead was full of wrinkles; his eyes lay wild, deep, and dark in his head; his upper lip, with the nostrils, had drawn itself upwards, and the corners of his mouth sank down with the skinny cheeks; every one who saw him considered him fixedly, and turned away from him with appre~ hension. On Sunday, after new-year, he went to church. There was no one of aj] the people who spoke io him, except the Rev. Mr. Brick; he had ob- served him from the pulpit, and when the sermon was over, the worthy man hastened out of the church, sought for him among the people who stood at the door, seized him by the arm, and said, ‘‘Come with me, tutor! you shall dine with me, and spend the afternoon with me.” It is in- expressible what an effect these kind words had upon his mind; he could scarcely refrain from weeping and crying aloud; the tears flowed in streams down his cheeks; he could not answer the preacher a word, and the latter asked him no further questions, but conducted him directly to his house; his lady and the children were shock- ed at his appearance, and heartily pitied him. As soon as Mr. Brick had unrobed, they sat down totable. The clergymat immediately be- gan to speak of his situation, and that so power- fully and emphatically, that Stilling did nothing but weep aloud, and all that sat at table wept with him. This excellent man read in his soul what was the matter with him; he impressively asserted that all the sufferings he had hitherto endured had been only purifying fires, by which eternal love sought to put away his pride, and to make him meet for some peculiar purpose— that his present painful situation had been allot- ted him for the same reason, and it would not be long before the Lord would graciously deliver him; and similar consolations of the kind, which refreshed the parched soul of poor Stilling like acool dew. But this consolation did not last long; he was obliged to return in the evening to his prison, and the pain, after this refreshment, was only the more intolerable. These dreadful sufferings continued from Mar- tinmas to the 12th of April, 1762, consequently nineteen or twenty weeks. This day was there- fore the happy epoch of his deliverance. He rose early in the morning with the very same painful sufferings with which he had Jain down to sleep; he went down as usual to breakfast, drank coffee, and from thence to the school-room. At nine o’clock, as he was sitting at the table in his prison, and quite retired within himself, en- during the fire of his sufferings, he suddenly felt his state completely changed: all his melancholy and pain had wholly disappeared ; he felt such a delight and profound peace in his soul, that he knew not what to do for joy and felicity. He bethought himself, and perceived that he was STILLING’S WANDERINGS. willing to go away; he had taken this resolution without being conscious of it; he therefore rose up the same moment, went up to his bedroom, and reflected upon his circumstances. How many tears of joy and gratitude flowed there, those alone can comprehend who have been themselves in a similar situation. He now packed his few remaining rags to- gether, bound up his hat with them, but left his stick behind. This bundle he threw out of a window into the yard behind the house, then went down again, and walked, with perfect in- difference, out of the gate, went behind the house, took his bundle, and walked as fast as he could up the field, and pretty far into the thicket. He there put on his worn out coat, his hat, and put his old chamois-frock, which he wore in the week days, into his bundle, cut a stick on which he supported himself, and wandered northwards over hill and dale without any certain path. His mind was now quite tranquil; he tasted the sweetness of liberty in all its fulness; but he was still so stupified and almost insensible, that he did not reflect upon h.s situation, and was incapable of thinking. Atver walking onwards for almost an hour through waste places, he hit upon a high road, and then saw, about a league before him, a little town upon a hill, to which this road led; he followed it involuntarily, and about eleven o’clock arrived at the gates. He there asked the name of the town, and was told it was Waldstatt, which he had sometimes heard mentioned. He went in at one gate, directly through the town, and out of the other. There he found two roads, which seemed to him equally trodden; he chose one of them, and went, or rather ran forwards upon it. After travelling searcely half a league, he found himself in a wood, the road, disappeared, and he saw no fur- ther trace of it. He sat down, for he had tired himself with running. All his mental faculties now returned; he recollected himself, and found that he had nota single farthing of money in his pocket, having demanded little or nothing of his salary from Mr. Hochberg; besides which, he was hungry, he was in a wilderness, and did not know a single individual, far and wide, that was acquainted with him. . He now began to say to himself, “I have at length ascended the highest summit of abandon- ment; nothing more is left me but to beg or die. This is the first day in my life in which I know of no dinner provided for me! Yes, the hour is come, when that great promise of the Redeem- er is put to the highest test, as it respects me, ‘Not a hair of your head shall perish! If this be true, I must have immediate aid; for to this moment I have trusted in Him, and believed his word. [belong to those eyes that wait upon the Lord, that He may give them their meat in due season, and satisfy them with his good pleasure; Iam his creature, at least as much as any bird that sings in the trees, and always finds its food when it requires it.” Siilling’s heart, at these words, was in a State similar to that of a child when by severe correction it melts at length like wax, and the father turns away to hide his tears. O God! what moments are these, when it is manifest how the bowels of the Father of men yearn over them, and when, from compassion, He can no longer restrain himself. While reflecting thus, his mind was suddenly at ease, and it seemed to him as if some one whispered to him, “Go into the town and seek a master!” He turned about the same moment, 61 and feeling in one of his pockets, he found that he had his scissors and thimble with him, with- out knowing it. He returned, therefore, and went in at the gate. He found a person stand- ing before his door, whom he saluted, and asked where the best master-tailor in the town lived. The man called a child, and said to it, ‘“ Take this person to Mr, Isaac.” The child ran before Stilling, and conducted him to a small house, in a remote corner of the town; he went in, and en- tered the parlour. Here he found a pale, thin, but civil and cleanly woman, who was spread- ing the cloth, in order to dine with her childrén. Stilling saluted her, and asked her whether he could have work there. The woman looked at him, and considered him from head to foot. “Yes,” said she, in a modest and friendly man- ner; “my husband is at a loss for a journey- man; where are you from?” Stilling answer- ed, ‘From the province of Salen.” The woman brightened up, and said, ‘‘ My husband is also from that part; I wili send for him.” He was gone to work at a house in the town, with a journeyman and apprentice; and she sent one of the children thither to fetch him. In a few minutes Mr. Isaac entered the house; his wife told him what she knew, and he made further inquiries regarding what he wished to know; he then willingly took him into his employ. His wife now invited him to sit down with them, and thus his dinner had been already prepared for him, while he was wandering in the wood and reflecting whether God would that day grant him his necessary food ! Mr. Isaac stayed and dined withthem. After dinner, he took him to work with him at a bail- iff’s, whose name was Schauerof; this man was a baker, a tall, thin personage. After Mr. Isaac and his new journeyman had sat down, and began to work, the bailiff came also, with his long pipe, sat down with the tailors, and commenced a conversation with Mr. Isaac, where they had probably previously left off. “Yes,” said the bailiff; “the idea that I form to myself of the Spirit of Christ is, that of an omnipresent power, which every where seeks entrance into the hearts of men, in order to change every soul into its own nature; now, the further any one is from God, the more estranged is he from this Spirit. What dost thou think of it, brother Isaac ?” “T view the matter much in the same man- ner,” rejoined the latter; ‘‘it chiefly depends upon the will of man; the will makes him sus- ceptible of it.” Stilling could now no longer restrain himself; he felt that he was with pious people; he began all on a sudden to weep aloud, behind the table, and exclaim, ‘‘O God, I am at home! I am at home!” All who were present started, and were astonished; they knew not what was the matter with him. Mr. Isaac looked at him, and said, ““ What is the matter, Stilling ?” (for he had told him his name.) Stilling answered, “Tt is long since I have heard this language; and as I now see that you are people who love God, IT was unable to contain myself for joy.” Mr. Isaac continued, “Are you then a friend of re- ligion and true godliness ?” “Oh yes,” rejoined Stilling, “from my very heart!” The bailiff laughed for joy, and said, ‘We have therefore one brother more.” Mr. Isaac and bailiff Schanerof shook him by the hand, and were much pleased. In the evening, after 62 supper, the journeyrnan and apprentice went home; but the hailiff, Isaac, and Stilling, con- tinued Jong together, conversing in an edifying manner on religious subjects. Heinrich Stilling now lived again content- edly at Waldstatt; after so much suffering and imprisonment, peace and liberty tasted so much the sweeter. He had not written one word con- cerning his distresses to his father, in order that he might not grieve him; but now, having left Mr. Hochberg’s and living again at his trade, he wrote him much, but not all. The answer which he received, was a reiteration of what he had often told him, that he was not destined for the instruction of youth. After Stilling had been some days with Mr. Isaac, the latter once began, while they were at work together, during the absence of the other journeyman and apprentice, to speak to him re- specting his clothes, and inquired minutely con- ceming every thing he had. After Isaac had heard all, he immediately rose up, and fetched some beautiful violet-coloured cloth for a coat, a fine new hat, black cloth for a waistcoat, stuff for an under-waistcoat and trowsers, and a pair of good fine stockings; the shoemaker had or- ders to measure him for a pair of shoes, and his wife made him six new shirts ; all this was ready in a fortnight. His master then put one of his walking-sticks into his hand; and Stilling was now better clothed than ever he had been in his life ; besides which, every thing was according to the fashion, and now he was not ashamed to be seen. This was the last enemy that was to be over- come. Stilling could not sufficiently express his heartfelt gratitude to God and his benefac- tor; he wept for joy, and was completely com- fortable and happy. But blessed be thy ashes, thou friend of Stilling, where thou liest and re- posest! When once the words shall resound over a flaming world, ‘I was naked, and ye clothed me?’ then shalt thou also lift up thy head,-and thy glorified body will shine seven times more brilliantly than the sun on a sum- mer’s morning ! Stilling’s inclination to rise higher in the world was for this time, so to speak, completely torn up by the roots; and he was firmly and ir- revocably resolved to remain a tailor, until he should be clearly convinced that it was the will of God he should begin something else. In a word, he solemnly renewed the covenant with God, which he had made the previous summer, on the Sunday afternoon, in the street of Schau- berg. His master was also so satisfied with him that he treated him in every respect as his companion; but his wife loved him as tenderly as a sister; and the children likewise were fond of him, so that he again lived in his proper ele- ment. His fondness for the sciences, indeed, still re- mained what it had been; however, it rested under the ashes—he had no longer a passion for them, and he let them rest. Mr. Isaac had a large acquaintance with pi- ous and awakened people for five leagues round Waldstatt. Sunday was appointed for visiting; he therefore went, early on the Sunday morning, with Stilling, to the place they had resolved upon, and after spending the day with their friends, returned home in the evening. Or if they intended to go far, they set out together on the Sunday afternoon, and returned on the Mon- day morning. It afforded joy to Stilling’s soul HEINRICH STILLING. to become acquainted with so many virtuous characters; and he was particularly pleased that all these people had nothing enthusias- tic, but simply sought to exercise love to God and man, and to imitate Christ, their Head, in their walk and conversation. This fully ac- corded with Stilling’s religious system, and therefore he united with all these people in sin- cere and fraternal affection. And in reality, this connexion ‘had an excellent effect upon him. Isaac continually admonished him to watch and pray, and always fraternally remind- ed him when he was not sufficiently careful in his conversation, ‘This manner of life was be- yond measure useful to him, and prepared him, more and more, for what God intended to make of him. In the middle of May—I believe it was near Whitsuntide— Mr. Isaac determined to visit some very pious friends in the province of Mark, about six leagues from Waldstatt ; they dwelt in a little town, which I will here call Rothenbeck. He took Stilling with him: it was mostdelightful weather, and the way thither led through a charm- ing part ofthe country; at one time across a mead- ow; atanother through a green thicket filled with nightingales ; sometimes up a field covered with flowers; at others, overa bushy hill; sometimes on a heath, where the scenery around was para- disiacal; then into a large wood; afterwards along a cool and murmuring brook, and thus continually changing as they proceeded. Our two pilgrims were healthy and well, without care or sorrow ; they had peace both within and without, loved each other as brethren, saw and experienced every where the goodness and near- ness of the Father of all things in nature, and possessed a number of good friends in the world, and few or no enemies. They walked, or rath- er ran, hand-in-hand, along their way, spoke quite confidentially on all kinds of subjects, or sang some edifying hymn, until they arrived, to- wards evening, without weariness or difficulty, at Rothenbeck. ‘They took up their residence with a very worthy and affluent friend, to whom they therefore proved the less burdensome. The name of this friend was Gléckner, who was a tradesman, and dealt in a variety of wares. This man and his wife had no children. They both received the strangers with cordial affec- tion; and though they were not yet acquainted with Stilling, yet they were very friendly to- wards him, on Isaac’s assuring them that he was of the same will and sentiments with them all. During supper, in the evening, Gléckner re- lated a very remarkable tale regarding his broth- er-in-law Freymuth, which was to the following effect:—Madame Freymuth was Glockner’s wife’s sister, and of one mind with her-concern- ing religion; the two sisters therefore came fre- quently together, with other friends, on the Sun- day afternoon, when they recapitulated the morning’s sermon, read in the Bible, and sang hymns. Freymuth could not bear this at all; he was an arch enemy to such things, notwith- standing he went diligently to church and sacra- ment, but that was all; horrible oaths, drinking, gaming, licentious conversation, and fighting, were his most gratifying amusements, in which he passed his time afier his business was fin- ished. When he came home in the evening, and found his wife reading the Bible, or some other edifying book, he began to swear in a dreadful manner, and to say to her, “ Thou cant- ing, pietistic d——. knowest thou not that I will STILLINGS WANDERINGS. not have theeread?”’ He then seized her by the hair, dragged her about upon the ground, and beat her till the blood gushed from her nose and mouth ; however, she did not say a word, but when he left off, she embraced his knees, and besought him, with many tears, to be converted and change his course of life; he then kicked her away from him with his feet, and said, “ That I will not, thou wretch! I will be no hypocrite, like thee.” He treated her in the same manner when he knew that she had been in company with other pious people. In this way he had acted, ever since his wife had been of different sentiments to himself. But now, only within the last few days, Freymuth had become entire- ly changed, and that in the following manner :— Freymuth took his departure for the fair at Frankfort. During this time, his wife was en- tirely at liberty to live as she pleased; she not only went to visit other friends, but also occa- sionally invited a considerable number of them to her house ; this she did, also, last Easter fair. Once, when many of them were assembled in Freymuth’s house on a Sunday evening, and were reading, praying, and singing together, it pleased the mob not to suffer this; they came, and first of all broke all the windows within their reach, and as the house-door was fastened, they bust it open with a strong pole. The com- pany in the parlour were alarmed and terrified, and every one sought to hide himself as well as he could. Madame Freymuth alone remained; and on hearing the house-door broken open, she stepped out with a light in her hand. Several of the mob had already burst in, whom she met in the hall. She smiled at the people, and said good-humouredly, ‘‘ Neighbours! what is it you want?’ Immediately it seemed as though they had received a beating, they looked at each oth- er, were ashamed, and went quietly home again. The next morning, Madame F'reymuth sent for the glazier and carpenter, in order to restore ev- ery thing to its proper state; this was done, and scarcely was all finished when her husband re- tarned from the fair. He immediately observed the new windows, and therefore asked his wife how it had hap- pened? She told him the pure truth, circum- stantially, and concealed nothing from him; but sighed at the same time, in her mind, to God for assistance; for she expected nothing else but that she would be dreadfully beaten. Freymuth, however, did not think of that; but was mad at the outrage of the mob. His intention was to take cruel revenge upon the villains, as he called them; he therefore commanded his wife, with threats, to tell him who they were that had com- mitted the outrage, for she had seen and recog- nized them. “Yes, dear husband,” said she, “I will tell thee; but I know a still greater sinner than they all together; for there was one who for the very same reason beat me most dreadfully.” Freymuth did not understand this as it was meant; he flew into a passion, beat upon his breast, and roared out, “May the d—— fetch him and thee too, if thou dost not this moment tell me who it was.” “Yes,” answered Ma- dame Freymuth, “I will tell thee; revenge thyself upon him as muchas thou wilt; thow art the man that did it, and art therefore worse than the peo- ple who only broke the windows.” Freymuth was mute, and stood as if struck by lightning; he was silent awhile: at length he began, “‘God in heaven, thou art in the right! I have certainly | 63 been a real villain! Iam wishing to revenge my- selfon people who are betterthan I! Yes, wife? fam the most wicked wretch uponearth!” He jumped up, ran up stairs to his bed-room, lay there three days and three nights, flat upon the ground, ate nothing, and only occasionally took something to drink. His wife kept him com- pany as much as she could, and helped him in prayer, that he might obtain favour with God, through the Redeemer. On the morning of the fourth day, he rose with his mind at ease, praised God, and said, “I am now assured that my grievous sins are forgiven me!” From that moment he has been quite another man, as humble as he was proud before, as meek as he had been previously wrathful and daring, and as heartily pious as he had before been impious. This man would have been a subject for my friend Lavater. The expression of his counte- nance was the maddest and wildest in the world; it needed only a single passion—for instance, anger—to be excited, and the animal spirits re-- quired only to extend every muscle of his face,. and he would have appeared raging mad. But now he is like a lion turned intoalamb. Peace and serenity are impressed upon every muscle of his countenance, and this gives him an aspect as pious as it was previously brutal. After supper, Glockner sent his servant to Freymuth’s house, to say that friends had ar- rived to visit him. Freymuth and his wife came immediately, and welcomed Isaac and Stilling.. The latter made his observations, all the even- ing, upon the two people, and at one time ad- mired the meekness of the lion, and at another the courage of the lamb. All the six were very happy together, edified each other as well as they were able, and went late to bed. Our two friends continued a couple of days longer at Rothenbeck, visiting and receiving visits. ‘The schoolmaster there, who was also a Stilling, and from the province of Salen, be- longed likewise to the society of the pious at Rothenbeck; him they visited also. He became particularly fond of Stilling, especially on hear- ing that he had been a long time schoolmaster. The two Stillings made a covenant with each other, that one should write to the other as long as they lived, in order to ‘inaintain the friendship then formed. At length they travelled back again from Rothenbeck to Waldstatt, and betook themselves to their occupation, during which they passed their time in all kinds of pleasing conversation. There dwelt, about a league from Waldstatt, a considerable merchant, of the name of Span- ier. This manhad seven children, of whom the eldest was a daughter of about sixteen, and the youngest a girl of a year old. There were in all, three sons and four daughters. He had a very large iron-foundry, which consisted of sev- en forges, of which four were near his house, and three lay at the distance of a league anda half, not far from Mr. Hochberg’s house, where Stilling had formerly resided. He possessed, besides, a great many estates, houses, gardens, and all that belongs to them, together with a number of domestics, footmen, servants, and grooms; for he had several horses for his own use. When Mr. Spanier had collected together suf- ficient employment for the tailor, he sent for Mr. Isaac with his journeyman to work for some days at his house, in order to repair his own and his people’s clothes. 64 After Stilling had been twelve weeks with Mr. Isaac, it happened that they were sent for to work at Mr. Spanier’s. ‘They went thither early in the morning. On entering the room-door, Mr. Spanier was sitting alone at the table, drinking coffee out of a little pot that had been filled for him alone. He turned himself slowly about, looked Stilling in the face, and said, “Good morning, Mr. Tutor.” Stilling blushed deeply, and knew not what to say; however, he soon recovered himself, and said, “ Your servant, Mr. Spanier.” The latter remained silent, and continued to drink his cof- fee. But Stilling betook htmself to his work. Some hours afterwards, Mr. Spanier walked up and down the room, but without speaking a word; at length he stood still before Stilling, looked at him awhile, and said, “ You succeed as well in that, Stilling, as if you had been born to be a tailor; but that you are not.” “How so ?” asked Stilling. “For this very reason,” rejoined Spanier; “because I will have you for tutor to my chil- dren.” Mr. Isaac looked at Stilling, and smiled. “No, Mr. Spanier!” replied Stilling; ‘that will not be the case. I have irrevocably deter- mined to teach no more. I am now quiet and comfortable at my trade, and I will not depart from it.” Mr. Spanier shook his head, laughed, and continued, ‘1 will teach you something differ- ent to that; I have levelled so many a mount- ain in the world, that if I were unable to bring you to another way of thinking, I shopld be ashamed of myself.” He said nothing more upon the subject that day; but Stilling entreated his master to let him go home the same evening, in order to escape Mr. Spanier’s snares. However, Mr. Isaac would not permit it; Stilling, therefore, armed himself in the best manner, in order to be able to resist Mr. Spanier with the most weighty ar- guments, The next day it again happened that Mr. Span- ier walked up and down the room, and began to speak to Stilling as follows :— “ Flear me, Stilling. If I were to let a fine coat be made for me, and then hang it upon a nail, without ever putting it on—should I not be thought a fool ?”’ “Yes,” replied Stilling; “first, if you needed it, and, secondly, if it fitted well. But supposing you let such a coat be made without requiring it, or if you put it on, and found it was every where too tight for you, what would you do then?” “JT will tell you what I would do with it,” an- swered Spanier; “{ would give it to some one else, whom it fitted.” “But,” rejoined Stilling, “if you had given it to seven, and each of them returned it to you, and said, ‘It does not fit me,’ how would you then act?” Spanier replied, ‘I should still be a fool if I suffered it to hang up for the moths to devour; I would give it to the eighth, and say, ‘ Alter it till it fits you.’ But supposing the eighth was per- fectly willing to take the coat as it was, and not to require more of it than it was made for, I should be committing asin if I did not give it to him!” “ You are in the right there,” rejoined Stilling; ‘however, notwithstanding all this, I entreat you, Mr. Soanier for God’s sake, leave me at my trade.” HEINRICH STILLING. “No,” answered he, “that I will not; you shall and must become my domestic tutor, and that on the following terms: You are unac- quainted with the French language, but with me it is necessary, for many reasons, that you un- derstand it; therefore look out for a language- master wherever you please; remove to him, and learn the language; I will gladly pay what- ever it maycost. Further, I give you, notwith- standing, full liberty to return to Mr. Isaac as soon as you are tired of living with me; and finally, you shall have all that you need as to clothing, &c., as long as you continue with me. But then I have also a right, on the contrary, to demand ¢his of you—that you will not enter upon any other situation, as long as I require you, un- less it be to provide yourself for life.” Mr. Isaac was touched with this proposal, “Now,” said he to Stilling, “you will commit a sin, if you do not consent. This comes from God, and all your previous engagements fram yourself.” Stilling examined himself closely, and found within him no passion or ambitious feeling, but felt, on the contrary, a hint in his conscience, that this situation was pointed out to him by God. After a short pause, he began: ‘Yes, Mr. Spanier, I will venture upon it once more, but I do it with fear and trembling.” Mr. Spanier rose up, gave him his hand, and said, ‘‘God be thanked! I have now made this mountain into a plain, But you must immedi- ately betake yourself to a language-master; the sooner the better.” Stilling was quite willing to do so, and even Mr. Isaac said, ‘The day after to-morrow is Sunday; you may then set off in God’s name.” This was therefore agreed upon. I must confess, now that Stilling is again be- come another man, that however happy he ima- gined himself to be, he had still a discordant string, which he never dared to touch. As soon as it occurred to him, what he had read and at- tained to in the mathematics and other sciences, his heart was pained; however, he expelled it from his mind again; hence he felt very different on being conscious that he was about to enter into his proper element. Although Isaac was pleased at his good for- tune, yet it grieved him much that he was so soon to part with him; and it pained Stilling to the soul, that he was obliged to take leave of the most upright man in the world, and the best friend he ever had, before he was able to repay him for his clothes by his earnings; on this ac- count, he secretly spoke with Mr. Spanier, and told him what Mr. Isaac had done forhim, The tears came into Mr. Spanier’s eyes, and he said, “Excellent man! I will reward him; he shall never want!” He then gave Stilling some louis-d’ors, with the intimation to pay Isaac with part, and economize with the remainder; when it was expended, he should have more, only he must give a proper account how he had spent it. Stilling rejoiced above measure; he had nev- er yet met with such a man. He therefore paid Mr. Isaac with the money; and the latter then confessed that he had really borrowed the money for all the clothes. This went to Stilling’s heart; he conld not refrain from weeping, and thought within himself, if ever a man deserved a marble monument, this man does—not for hav- ing made whole nations happy, but because he would have done so if he could. STILLING’S WANDERINGS. Once more! Blessed be thy ashes, my friend! who wast one of a thousand, where thou liest and sleepest; these sacred tears bedew thy grave, thou true follower of Christ! Stilling, therefore, took leave, on Sunday, of his friends at Waldstatt, and proceeded by way of Rasenheim to Schénenthal, in order.to scek a good language-master. On approaching that place, he recollected that a year and some weeks before, he had first travelled that road; he re- volved in his mind all that had befallen him in that short period, and then again, his present condition; he fell down upon his knees, and thanked God heartily fer his severe but sacred guidance, at the same time beseeching Him to cause the sunshine of his favor to beam upon him. On ascending the eminence, from whence he could survey all Schénenthal, and the extent of the beautiful valley, he felt poetically inspired, sat down under the bushes, drew out his tablets, and wrote: *T feel a soft emotion flow, A peace celestial and profound ; While pure delights within me glow, And cooling breezes breathe around. The clouds along the placid sky, Fringed with light, serenely fly. “ The rushing of the distant rill Floats hither, as on gentle wings: I listen !—all beside is still, Save where the lark aspiring sings, Or, warbling from some secret nook, Joins with the murmurs of the brook. “ Now, joyfully, my eyes I raise To every well-known lofty hill ; Then downwards on my path I gaze, And my uppointed course fulfil ; For ever from my breast expel The foul, tormenting fiend of hell. “Once more I look, with feelings bold, Down into sorrow’s gloomy vale, And with a placid eye behold The place where heart and flesh did fail. I hear a dreadful ocean roar, And waves terrific lash the shore. “‘ Like some pale ghost, which feebly roams Through halls and mansions lone and drear, Or sadly flitting o’er the tombs, Fills the night-wanderer with fear, While laboring hard a word to say, Which might its suffering state convey— So did I totter on the brink Of the dread gulf of black despair ; And every moment saw me sink Deeper into the infernal] snare. Loudly below the dragons growl’d, While high above black thunders roll’d. “JT went, and saw, with sad dismay, Angels of death around me wait; While forked lightnings mark’d the way; Until I ’spied a little gate— I hasten’d through, in spite of foes, And found the end of all my woes. “ Onwards I crept, in silent shade: It still was twilight all around ; i felt my powers and senses fade, And bent in weakness towards the ground; Fainting, I felt my eyelids close, And sank, unconscious of my woes. “T sank as when on friendship’s breast Some deadly-wounded warnior falls, While surgic aid, with influence bless’d, The ebbing tide of life recalls ; I was revived, refresh’d, restored, And through my frame new strength was pour’d. **In Isaac’s hospitable dome I tasted pure and sweet repose ; ?T was there I found a blissful home, There songs of thankfulness argge ; To God we chanted hymns of oa, The Author of our happy days.” Stilling now hastened down the hill to Schén- enthal; be ascertained, however, that the lan- 65 guage-masters there would not suit his purpose, because, on account of their being much occupied in going from one house to another, they would have little time to spare for him. As he was in haste, and would gladly accomplish his object soon, he was obliged to seek an opportunity where he could learn much in a little time. At length he heard that a very able language-mas- ter resided at Dornfeld, where Mr. Dablheim was the minister; and as this place was only three quarters of a league from Schonenthal, he the more readily determined to go thither. He arrived at Dornfeld at three o’clock in the afternoon. He immediately inquired for the language-master, went to him, and found a very strange, original man, whose name was Hees- feld. He was sitting ina dark room; he had on a dirty morning-gown of coarse camblet, girded about him with a band of the same stuff; on his head was a cap with flaps to it; his visage was as pale as that of a man who had been some days in the grave, and, compared with the breadth, much too long. His forehead was beautiful; but beneath a couple of jet-black eye- brows, lay two small black eyes deep in the head; his nose was small and long, his mouth regular, but his chin was flat, and projected far forwards, and his extremely black hair was curled round about; in other respects, he was thin, tall, and well-made. Stilling was in some measure startled at his singular countenance; however, he showed no symptoms of it, but saluted him, and stated his intention, Mr. Heesfeld received him in a friendly manner, and said, “I will do what I can for you.” Stilling next looked out for a lodging, and commenced his study of the French lan- guage, which he did in the following manner. In the forenoon, from eight till eleven o’clock, he attended the regular school, as also in the af- ternoon, from two to five. He sat, however, at the same table with Fleesfeld, conversing and passing the time with him; but when the school was over they took a walk together. Strange as Heesfeld was in his appearance, he was just as peculiar in his life and conversa- tion. He belonged to the class of the Splenetics, as did Graser also; for he never told any one what he thought; no one knew whence he was, and they were equally ignorant whether he was poor orrich. Perhaps he never loved any one in his life more tenderly than Stilling; and yet the latter only ascertained after his death whence he came, and that he had been a rich man. His peculiar mode of thinking appeared also from his always concealing his abilities, and only letting so much of them be perceived as was necessary. It was every day manifest that he understood French perfectly ; but that he was also an excellent Latin scholar was only first ap- parent when Stilling came to him, with whom he commenced his instruction on the principles of the Latin grammar, and daily made Latin verses with him, which were incomparably beau- tiful. He understood drawing, dancing, physic, and chemistry, in a high degree; and only two days before Stilling’s departure, it happened that the latter was playing on the harpsichord in his company, and Heesfeld was listening. When Stilling ceased, he sat down to it; and acted, at first, as if he had never touched an instrument in his life; but in less than five minutes he be- gan _a voluntary, so sweetly and dreadfully mel- ancholy, that it was enough to make a man’s hair stand onend. In short, he showed himself 66 HEINRICH a complete master of the art, and knew how to touch every responding chord in the human frame in such a manner, that Stilling was ready to melt at his affecting mode of playing, and ad- mired the man beyond measure. Heesfeld, in his youth, had entered into the military service. On account of his abilities, he was taken by an officer of high rank into his particular service, who had him instructed in every thing he desired. He travelled through the world with this gentleman, who, twenty years afterwards, died, and left him a handsome sum. Heesfeld, at that time, was forty years old; he returned home—not, however, to his parents and friends—but took the name of an- other family, went to Dornfeld as F'reneh lan- guage-master, and although his parents and his two brothers lived only two leagues from him, yet they knew nothing of him, but believed he had died in a foreign land. On his deathbed, however, he made himself known to his broth- ers, stated his circumstances to them, and left them a rich inheritance; which, according to his system, was then quite early enough. Now whether this be termed a failing or a virtue, he had, with all this, a noble soul. His philanthropy had risen to a great height, but he acted in secret; even those to whom he did good were not permitted to know it. Nothing delighted him more, than to hear that people did not know what to make of him. When he went out to walk with Stilling, they conversed together upon the arts and sciences. Their path always led them into the wildest sol- itudes. Heesfeld then ascended some waving tree, which would bend easily, sat down in the top, held fast with his hands, and weighing him- self down with it to the ground, then laid him- self a while in the branches, reposing. Stilling imitated him, and thus they lay and chatted to- gether; when they were tired of this, they rose up, and the trees resumed their perpendicular pee this was an amusement to Heesfeld ; e€ was wont to say, “ How beautiful are air- beds! when we rise, they ascend towards heav- en.” Sometimes he gave a person an enigma to solve, and asked, ““ What kind of beds are those, which fly up into the air when one rises ?” Stilling lived very happily at Dornfeld. Mr. Spanier sent him money enough, and he studied very diligently, for he had finished in nine weeks. It is incredible, but certainly true; in two months he understood this language sufli- ciently; he could read the French journals in German, as if they had been printed in the latter language; he was also already able to write a French letter without a grammatical error, and read correctly; he only required exercise in speaking. He was sufficiently acquainted with the whole of the syntax, so that he could boldly begin to give instructions himself in the lan- age. Stilling therefore determined to take leave of Mr. Heesfeld, and to remove to his new patron. Both wept on separating from each other. Hees- feld accompanied him the distance of a league; and when they were taking leave of each other, he embraced him, and said, “ My friend, if you are ever in want of any thing, write to me, and I will do to you what one brother ought to do to another. . My life is a hidden one, but I wish to work like our mother nature; her sources are not seen, but the individual drinks his fill at her clear brooks.” Stilling felt it hard to part from him; at length they tore themselves from each STILLING. other, and each went his way, without once looking behind him. Stilling therefore returned on foot to Mr. Span- jier’s, and arrived at his house in the evening, two days before Michaelmas, 1763. Mr. Span- ier rejoiced not a little on seeing Stilling returm so soon. He immediately treated him as a friend; and Stilling felt convinced that he was: now with people with whom he could be happy. The next day, he began his tuition, the ar- rangement of which was regulated by Spanier in the following manner. The children and their teacher were with him in his room; he could therefore observe and direct them himself, as well as speak continually with Stilling on a va- riety of subjects. At the same time, Mr. Span- ier gave his family-preceptor time enough: to read also for himself. ‘The tuition lasted the whole day; but was so convenient and amusing, that it could not be tedious or burthensome to any one. Mr. Spanier, however, had designed that Still- ing should be not merely the tutor of his chil- dren, but he had also another favorable inten- tion respecting him—he purposed employing him in his business; but this he did not com- municate to him until the day when he commit- ted a part of his iron-works to his charge. He thought, by so doing, to make an agreeable: change in Stilling’s situation, and to preserve him from melancholy. All this was attended with perfect success. After he had been engaged a fortnight in teach- ing, Mr. Spanier transferred to his care his three forges, and the estates which lay a league and @ half from his house, not far from the residence of Mr. Hochberg. Stilling had to go thither every three days, in order to fetch away the ar- ticles which were ready, and to look after every thing. He had also to purchase the raw material, and to go for this purpose to the distance of three leagues on the high-road, two or three times every week, whither the carriers came with the iron ore, in order to buy of them what was neces- sary. When he returned much fatigued, a few days’ rest did him good; he then read for him- self, and taught at the same time. But the pleasing intercourse which Stilling had with Mr. Spanier, was his principal enjoy- ment. They were very intimate together, and conversed cordially on all sorts of subjects. Spanier was, in particular, an able and excel- lent agriculturist and merchant; so that Stilling often used to say, ‘‘Mr. Spanier’s house was my academy, where I had an opportunity of study- ing farming, agriculture, and commerce, in their very essence.” Stillmg’s manner of life, as here described, continued, without the intervention of a single gloomy hour, for seven whole years together; I will say nothing further respecting it, than that during the whole of this time, he made consider- able progress in his knowledge of the world, in good breeding, and the above-mentioned domes- tie sciences. He instructed his pupils, during this period, in the Latin and French languages, by which he attained to still greater expertness in both; as well as in reading, writing, and arith- metic; and inghe principles of the reformed re- ligion. His own reading consisted, in the beginning, of a variety of poetical works. He first read Milton’s Paradise Lost, then Young’s Night STILLINGS WANDERINGS. 67 Thoughts, and afterwards Klopstock’s Messias ! before his eyes, and wept; his son likewise shed —three books which truly harmonized with his soul; for as he had been previously of a san- guine and tender temperament, he had assumed, after his dreadful sufferings at Mr. Hochberg’s, | a soft and tender melancholy, which will prob- ably adhere to him till his death. He did not, at that time, do much more in mathematics, but applied himself, on the con- trary, Seriously to philosophy ; he read the whole of Wolt’s German writings, as also Gottsched’s Compendium of Philosophy, and Leibnitz’s The- odicée. He demonstrated the whole of Bau- meister’s Minor Logic and Metaphysics; and nothing was more agreeable to him than exer- cising himself in these sciences ; but still he felt a void within, and a mistrust of these systems; for they really stifled every childlike feeling of the heart towards God. ‘They may be a series of truths; but we do not yet possess the true philosophical chain, to which all things are ap- pended. Stilling expected to find this, but he found it not; he then set about searching further, partly by bis own reflection, and partly in other writings; but hitherto he walks mournfully upon this path, because he sees no outlet. Mr. Spanier was also originally from the prov- ince of Salen, for his father was born not far from Kleefeid, where Stilling had kept his last parochial school. On this account, he had oc- casionally business in that place; and for this he made use of Stilling by preference, particu- larly because he was known there. After he had been a year with his patron, and consequent- ly nearly two years and a half away from home, he began his first journey, on foot, to his native province. He had twelve leagues to travel from Mr. Spanier’s to his uncle Johann Stilling’s, and thirteen to his father’s. This journey he pur- posed accomplishing in one day. He therefore set off early in the morning, at daybreak, and travelled onwards very agreeably; but he took a nearer road than that by which he had former- ly come. At four o’clock in the afternoon, he gained the summit of a hill on the borders of the province of Salen, from whence he could see all the well-known heights; his heart melted, he sat down, shed tears of sensibility, and thanked God for his painful, but very uncommon guidance. He reflected how poor and wretched he nad gone forth from his native province, and that now he had money in abundance, fine clothes, and all that he needed. This softened him so much, and made him so grateful to God, that he could not refrain from weeping. He now proceeded on his journey, and arri- ved in the course of an hour at his uncle’s at Lichthausen. The joy they felt on seeing him was unspeakable; he was grown tall, and of a good figure ; had on a fine dark-blue coat, and fine white linen; his hair was powdered, and rolled up round about, and he looked, at the same time, cheerful and blooming, because things went well with him. His uncle embraced and kissed him, whilst the tears ran down his cheeks. Meanwhile his aunt, Maria Stilling, came also; she had been married since his departure, and had removed to Lichthausen; she fell upon his neck, and kissed him repeatedly. He remained that night with his uncle; the next morning, he proceeded to Leindorf to his father’s. How the worthy man jumped up, on seeing him come so unexpectedly! but he sank back again, whilst Stilling ran towards him, em- a $e rte, tears. The mother then came also, shook him by the hand, and wept aloud for joy, on seeing him again in health. Stilling now related to his parents all that had happened to him, and how comfortably situated he was at present. Meanwhile, the report of Stilling’s arrival spread itself through the whole village. The house was filled with people; old and young came to see their former schoolmas- ter, and the village was full of joy on his account. Towards evening, Wilhelm took his son with him to walk in the fields. He spoke much with him on his past and future fate, just in the man- ner of old Stilling; so that his son was penetra- ted with reverence. At length Wilhelm said, “ Hear me, my son: thou must visit thy grand- mother; she suffers much from the rheumatism, and will not live much longer. She very often speaks of thee, and wishes to converse with thee once more before her end.” ‘The next morning, therefore, Stilling rose, and went to Tiefenbach. How he felt, when he saw the old castle, der hitzige Stein, the Giller, and the village itself! His sensations were inexpressible; he com- menced a self-examination, and found, that if he were able, he would gladly exchange his present State for that of his youth. He arrived in a short time at the village; all the people ran out, so that he came, as it were, in a crowd, to the ven- erable house of his fathers. He felt a thrill per- vade him as he entered, just as if he had been crossing the threshold of some ancient temple. His aunt Elizabeth was in the kitchen; she ran to him, gave him her hand, and led him joyfully into the parlour; there lay his grandmother, Margaret Stilling, in a neat little bed by the wall, near the stove; her chest was drawn up- wards, the joints in her hands were swollen, and her fingers stiff and turned inwards. Stilling ran to her, took hold of her hand, and said, with tears in his eyes, “‘ How are you, my dear grand- mother? It rejoices my soul to see you again.” She strove to raise herself up, but sank power- less back again. ‘ Ah!” cried she, ‘I can still hear and feel thee, before my end. Come nearer to me, that I may feel thy face!” Stilling bent himself towards her; she felt his forehead, his eyes, nose, and mouth, his chin and cheeks. In doing this, her stiff fingers came in contact with his hair, and she felt the powder. “So,” said she, ‘thou art the first of our family that has: worn powder; but be not the first to forget in- tegrity and the fear of God! Now,” continued she, “I can form an idea of thee, as though FE saw thee; tell me how it has fared with thee, and how it now goes with thee.” Stilling re- lated every thing briefly and pointedly. When he had finished, she began as follows: “ Lis- ten to me, Heinrich! Be humble and devout, and it will go well with thee; never be ashamed of thy descent, and thy poor friends, however great thou mayest be in the world. He that is low may become great by humility, and he that is high may become low by pride; when I am once dead, it is all one what I have been in the world, if I have only lived as a Christian.” Stilling was obligedésolemnly to promise this, both by word, and by giving her his hand; and after he had conversed with her for some time longer, he took a hasty leave of her. His heart pained him, for he knew that he should not see her again in this life. She was on the borders of the grave; but she took him by the hand, held braced and kissed him. Wilhelm held his hands | him fast, and said, “Thou art in haste—God be 68 with thee, my child! I shall see thee again be- fore the throne of God!” He pressed her hand and wept. She perceived it, and continued, “No! weep not over me! it is well with me. I heartily commend thee into the fatherly hands of God; may He bless thee, and preserve thee from all evil! Now go, in God’s name!” Still- ing tore himself loose, hurried out of the house, and has never returned thither since. Some days after, died Margaret Stilling; she lies bu- ried at Florenburgh with her husband. Stilling new felt as if he had no longer any attachment to his native province; he took leave of his relatives, hastened his departure, and ar- rived again at Mr. Spanier’s after an absence of five days. I will not expatiate upon Stilling’s uniform mode of life and occupations, during the first four years; but pass over to more important mat- ters. He had now been for a considerable time employed in tuition, and Mr. Spainer’s affairs; his years increased, and the idea began to occur to him, what would at length become of him? There was now a complete end to his trade; he had not attempted it for some years, and the tui- tion of children was also disagreeable to him; he was heartily tired of it, and he felt that he was not formed for it, for he was of a busy and active turn of mind. A mercantile life also did not please him, for he was very conscious that he would be unfit for continual occupation with such things, and this vocation was opposed to his inward impulse; he was, however, neither disturbed nor melancholy, but waited to see what the Lord intended concerning him. One morning in the spring of the year 1768, he was sitting at the table after breakfast, whilst the children were running about in the court for a little while; he stretched out his hand behind him for a book, and caught hold of “ Reitz’s History of the Regenerate.” He turned it over a little, without intention or reflection; when the history of a man met his eye, who had travelled into Greece, in order to search after the remains of the first Christian churches there. He read the narrative solely to pass the time. When he came, in the course of reading, to the place where the man, on his deathbed, testified the great pleasure he still took in the Greek lan- guage, and particularly, what a pleasing feeling he had at the word Eilikrineia—it seemed to Stilling as if he were awaking out ofa profound sleep. The word Eilikrineia stood before him, as if surrounded with radiance; he felt, at the Same time, an irresistible impulse to learn the Greek language, and a strong and latent attrac- tion to something with which he was still unac- quainted, nor could he tell what it was. He recollected himself, and thought, ‘‘ What shall I do with the Greek language? What an im- mense labor would it be for me to learn so diffi- cult a language, which I cannot even read, in my twenty-eighth year!” However, all the ob- jections of reason were entirely fruitless; his im- pulse towards it was so great, and his inclina- tion so powerful, that the time seemed tedious to him before he could commence it. He mention- ed all this to Mr. Spanier; the latter reflected a little, and at length he said, “If you must learn Greek, learn it!” Stilling immediately prepared to set out; and went to Waldstatt, to a certain excellent theologian, who was a good friend of his, and to whom he made known his intentions. ‘The good man was much pleased, gave him en- HEINRICH STILLING. couragement, and even recommended him to study divinity; however, Stilling felt no incli- nation to the latter, and his friend was also sat- isfied with his sentiments; but advised him to pay close attention to the Divine guidance, and as soon as he was conscious of it, to follow it implicitly. He then gave him the books neces- sary for learning the Greek language, and wish- ed him the Divine blessing. Erom thence he went likewise to the preachers, and mentioned his purpose to them; they were also in favor of it, particularly Mr. Seelburg, who promised him every assistance and necessary instruction, for he came to Mr. Spaniex’s house twice every week. Stilling now began to learn Greek. He ap- plied himself to it with all his powers, and troub- led himself little about the scholastic mode of in- struction; but sought only to penetrate, with his understanding, into the genius of the language, in order rightly to understand what he read. In short, in five weeks, he translated the first five chapters of the gospel of Matthew into the Latin language, without making a fault, and at the same time, analyzed every word. The Rev. Mr. Seelburg was astonished, and knew not what to say; this worthy man instructed him only in the pronunciation, and this he caught very rapidly. On this occasion, he also attempt- ed the Hebrew; and in a short time made such progress in it, that he could proceed with the help of a lexicon ; Mr. Seelburg did his best for him in this also, Whilst he thus occupied himself with aston- ishing industry and labour in these languages, Mr. Spanier continued entirely silent on the sub- ject, and let him do as he pleased: no one knew how the matter would end; and he himself did not know it, but the majority believed that he would become a preacher. At length, the whole affair developed itself all at once. One afternoon in June, Mr. Spanier walked up and down the room, as he was wont when reflecting upon some important affair, whilst Stilling was engaged with his languages and tuition. At length Mr. Spanier began: “Preceptor! it all at once occurs to me what you ought to do; you must study medicine.” I cannot express how Stilling felt at this prop osition; he could scarcely keep on his feet, se that Mr. Spanier, being alarmed, seized hold of him, and said, “ What is the matter with you?” “QO Mr. Spanier,” replied Stilling, ‘what shall I say—what shall I think? I am certain that is my vocation. Yes, J feel in my soul, that this is the great object which has been so long hid- den from me, which ] have so long sought, and been unable to find! For this my Heavenly Fa- ther has been so long designing to prepare me, by severe and painful trials, from my youth up. Blessed be the merciful God, that has at length made known to me his will! I will boldly fol- low his guidance.” On this, he ran up to his bed-room, fell upon his knees, thanked God, and besought the Fa- ther of men to lead him the shortest way to the attainment of his object. He reflected upon all the way in which Providence had led him, and now clearly perceived why he had enjoyed such a peculiar education; why he had been obliged to learn the Latin language so early; the reason of his innate impulse for the mathematics, and the knowledge of the occult powers of nature; why he had been rendered pliant and fit, by his many sufferings, to serve his fellow-creatures; STILLING’S WANDERINGS why, for some time past, his inclination to phi- losophy had so much increased, as to impel him to study logic and metaphysics; and, lastly, why he had felt such an inclination for the Greek language. He now knew his destiny; and from that hour, he determined to study for himself, and to collect materials, until it should please God to send him to the university. Mr. Spanier now gave him permission to take a few hours in the evening for himself, and did not employ him any longer so much in his busi- ness, in order that he might have time to study. Stilling applied himself with all his powers to the languages, and began to make himself ac- quainted with anatomy from books. He read Kriger’s System of Nature, and made all that he read his own; he sought also to form a plan for himself with regard to the prosecution of his studies, in which he was assisted by some emi- nent physicians, with whom he corresponded. {n one word, he went through all the discipline of the art of medicine for himself, as much as was possible at the time, in order that he might at least obtain a general idea of all its parts. This important news he immediately commu- nicated to his father and uncle. His father re- plied to this, that he resigned him entirely to the guidance of God; he must not, however, hope for any assistance on his part, and be careful not to plunge himself into a new labyrinth. But his mother was quite displeased athim; and believ- ed to a certainty, that he was actuated only bya love of novelty, which would assuredly turn out ill. Stilling did not let this disturb him in the least, but cheerfully prosecuted his studies, leav- ing it to the paternal providence of God to pro- vide the means. The following spring, when he had already studied a year, his master’s business again obli- ged him to travel into the province of Salen. This delighted him uncommonly; for he hoped the better to convince his friends, by word of mouth, that it was really the will of God respect- ing him that he should study medicine. He set off, therefore, early in the morning, and arrived in the afternoon at his uncle’s at Lichthausen. This worthy man, immediately after welcoming him, began to dispute with him respecting his new plan. The whole question was, ‘‘ Where shall the large sum come from that is requisite for such an extensive and expensive study?’ Still- ing always answered with his motto, “ Jehovah Jireth” (the Lord will provide). The next morning, he went to his father’s, who had also his apprehensions, and feared he might suffer shipwreck in the important under- taking; however, he did not dispute with him, but left him to his fate. After he had finished his business, he went again to his father’s, took leave of him, and af- terwards proceeded to his uncle’s; but the latter had entirely changed his mind, within a few days. Stilling was astonished at it, but still more so when he heard the reason of it. ‘ Yes,” said Johann Stilling, “you must study medicine; I now know that it is the will of God.” In order to comprehend this matter in its ori- gin, I must make a little digression, which has reference to Johann Stilling. He was acquaint- ed, before he became land-measurer, with a sin- gular man, a Catholic priest, who was a very able oculist, and celebrated far and near. Now Johann Stilling’s wife had very sore eyes, for which reason her husband went to Molitor, to fetch something for them. ‘The priest soon ob- 69 served that Johann had an inte..1gent mind, and he therefore encouraged him to apply himself diligently to geometry. Molitor’s intentions to- wards him were kind; he had the prospect of becoming steward to a very rich and honorable baronet, and this employment he preferred to his clerical office. ‘This baronet was a great admi- rer of geometry, and desirous of having plans made of all his estate. This was what Molitor designed for Johann Stilling, and the plan suc- ceeded admirably. As long as the old baronet lived, Molitor, Johann Stilling, and sometimes Wilhelm Stilling, were supported by him; but when the latter died, Molitor was dismissed, and there was also an end to the land-measuring. Molitor, in his old age, was made vicar in @ little town which lies four leagues to the north of Lichthausen. His principal occupation con- sisted in chemical operations, and cures of the eyes, in which he was still the most celebrated man in that part of the country. .« Just at the time that Heinrich Stilling was about his masier’s business in the province of Salen, old Mr. Molitor wrote to Johann Stilling, informing him that he had most faithfully and circumstantially copied out all his ophthalmic arcana, both with respect to their application and preparation, as also an explanation of the principal diseases of the eye, with the method of cure. Now, as he was old and near his end, he wished to see this valuable manuscript in good hands—and in consideration of the firm and intimate friendship that had uninterruptedly subsisted between them, notwithstanding their difference of religion, he requested him, as a friend, to inform him, whether there was not some worthy individual in his family who had a desire to study the art of medicine; that if there were, he might be sent to him; and pro- fessed himself ready to commit the manuscript to him, together with other valuable medicinal matters, immediately and gratuitously, with the sole condition, that he must pledge himself to benefit poor sufferers with it at all times without any charge. But it ought to be some one who intended to study medicine, in order that the things might not fall into a bungler’s hands. This letter had entirely changed Johann Still- ing’s mind with respect to his nephew. That he should just arrive at that period, and that Mr. Molitor should fall upon this idea at the very time when his nephew intended to study medi- cine, seemed to him a most convincing proof that God had his hand in the matter; he there- fore said to Stilling, ‘“‘ Read this letter, nephew! I have nothing more to object to your plan. I see it is the finger of God!” Johann Stilling therefore immediately wrote a very friendly and grateful letter to Mr. Moli- tor, and most warmly recommended his nephew to him. With this letter Stilling walked the next morning to the little town where Molitor lived. On arriving there, he inquired for the gentleman, and was shown a pgetty little house. Stilling rang the bell, and an aged female open- ed the door to him, and asked who he was. He answered, “My name is Stilling, and I wish to speak with the clergyman.” She went up-stairs, and the old man himself came down, welcomed his visitor, and led him up into his little cabi- net. Here he presented his letter. After Moli- tor had read it, he embraced Stilling, and inqui- red into his circumstances and intentions. The latter continued with him the whole day, looked at his pretty laboratory, his convenient surgery, 70 HEINRICH and his little library. ‘All this,” said Mr. Mo- litor, ‘I will leave you in my will, before I die.” Thus they spent the day very pleasantly together. Early the next morning, Molitor delivered up the manuscript to Stilling, with the condition, however, that he should transcribe it, and return him the original. Molitor, on the other hand, solemnly pledged himself that he would give it to no one else, but would conceal it, so that no body should be able to find it again. Besides this, the worthy old man had laid aside several books, which he promised to send Stilling forth- with; the latter, however, packed them up in his portmanteau, took them upon his back, and set out, Molitor accompanied him beyond the gates; he then looked up to heaven, took Still- ing by the hand, and said, ‘‘ The Lord, the Holy One, the Omnipresent, make you, by his Holy Spirit, the best of men, the best of Christians, and the best of doctors!” On which they kissed each other, and parted. Stilling shed tears at this separation, and thanked God for this excellent friend. He had to travel ten leagues to Mr. Spanier’s; this he accomplished the same day, and arrived at home in the evening, heavily laden with books. He related the recent occurrence to his patron, who admired with him the singular leadings and gui- dance of God. Stilling now set himself to the work of trans- cribing the manuscript; and notwithstanding his other business, he finished it in four weeks. He therefore packed up a pound of good tea, a pound of sugar, and some other things, in his portman- teau, together with the two manuscripts, and set off again early one morning, to visit his friend Molitor, and return him his manuscript. He arrived in the afternoon, rang at the door of the house, waited a little, and then rang again; but no ore opened to him. A woman who was standing at the door of a house opposite, asked him whom he wanted. Stilling answered, ‘‘ The Rev. Mr. Molitor.” The woman said, ‘‘ He has been in eternity above a week!” Stilling was so struck, that he turned pale; he went to an inn, where he inquired into the circumstances of Mo- litor’s death, and who was executor to his will. He there heard that he had died suddenly of an apopletic fit, and that no will had been found. Stilling therefore turned about with his portman- teau, and went back four leagues, where he spent the night at a little town, with a good friend of his, so that he was at home again early the next day. He could not refrain from weeping the whale of the way, and would gladly have wept on Molitor’s grave, had not the entrance to his tomb been closed. As soon as he came home, he began to prepare Mr. Molitor’s medicines. Now Mr. Spanier had a man-servant, whose son, a lad of twelve years of age, had for a long time had very sore eyes. Stilling made his first attempt upon this boy, which succeeded admirably, so that he was cured ina shorttime; hence he soon came into regular practice, so that he had much to do; and towards autumn, the fame of his cures extended itself for leagues round, even as far as Schonenthal. Mr. Isaac, the tailor of Waldstatt, saw his friend’s progress and success, and rejoiced heart- ily over him; nay, he swam in pleasure, in an- ticipation of eventually visiting Doctor Stilling, and delighting himself with him. But God drew a ‘stroke through this calculation, for Mr. Isaac fell ill. Stilling visited him constantly, and per- ceived with sorrow his approaching end. ‘The STILLING. day before his decease, Stilling was sitting at his friend’s bed-side; Isaac raised himself up, took him by the hand, and said, “ Friend Stilling, I shall die, and leave behind me a wife and four children; I am not anxious about their mainte- nance, for the Lord will provide for them; but whether they will walk in the Lord’s ways or not, I know not, and therefore I commit the over- sight of them to you; assist them, in word and deed; the Lord will reward you.” Stilling cor- dially promised to do so, as long as he could possibly take charge of them. Isaac continued, “When you remove from Mr. Spanier’s, I ab- solve you from your promise. But now I beg of you always to remember me with affection, and live in such a manner that we may be eter- nally united in heaven.” Stilling shed tears, and said, “Pray for grace and strength for me.¥ “Yes.” said Isaac, ‘that I will do, when I have finished my course; I have now enough to do with myself.” Stilling did not suppose his end was so very near; he therefore went away, and promised to come again the next day; however, he died the same night. Stilling acted as chief mourner at his funeral, because he had no rela- tions; he wept over his grave, and lamented him asa brother. His wife died not long after him; but his children are al] well provided for. After Stilling had been nearly six years in Mr. Spanier’s service, during which he contin- ued to practise as an oculist, it occasionally hap- pened that his master spoke with him concern- ing a convenient place for the regulation of his studies. Mr. Spanier proposed to him to con- tinue some years longer with him, and to study for himself; he would then give him a couple of hundred rix-dollars, that he might be able to travel to a university, pass the usual examina- tion, and take his degree; and in the course of a quarter of a year, return, and continue to re- side with Mr. Spanier. What further intentions he had respecting him, I know not. Stilling was quite satisfied with this plan at one time, but not at another. His object at the university was to study medicine thoroughly ; and he did not doubt but that God, who had call- ed him to it, would put ways and means into his hands to enable him to accomplish it. But Mr. Spanier was not satisfied with this, and, there- fore, they were both at length entirely silent on the subject. In the autumn of the year 1769, when Stilling had just entered his thirtieth year, and had been six years with Mr. Spanier, he received a letter from a merchant at Rasenheim, a league on this side of Schénentha!, whose name was F'rieden- berg, in which the latter requested him to come to Rasenheim as soon as possible, because one of his neighbours had a son who had been troub- led for some years with sore eyes, and was in danger of becoming blind. Mr. Spanier urged him to go immediately; he, therefore, did so, and after a three hours’ walk, arrived in the forenoon at Mr. Friedenberg’s, at Rasenheim. This man dwelt in a neat and beautiful house, which he had had built for him a short time be- fore. ‘The part of the country where he dwelt was extremely agreeable. When Stilling enter- ed the house, and perceived that order, cleanli- ness, and neatness without magnificence pre- vailed in every part of it, he was pleased, and felt that he could live there. But on entering the parlour, and seeing Mr. Friedenberg him- self, with his consort, and nine handsome well- made children, who presented themselves, one ST{LLING’S WANDERINGS. -after the other, in neat and elegant, but not ex- pensive clothing, every face beaming with truth, integrity, and cheerfulness—he was quite in ec- stasy, and wished in reality to dwell for ever with these people. There was no bustle nor hurry to be seen, but an efficient activity, the re- sult of harmony and good-will. Mr. Friedenberg, in a friendly manner, offer- ed him his hand, and invited him to dinner. Stilling accepted the offer with pleasure. On conversing with these people, he immediately perceived an inexpressible harmony of spirit; all of them immediately became fond of Stilling, and he also loved them all exceedingly. His conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Friedenberg was entirely upon religion and true godliness, which was the chief and sole concern of these people. After dinner, Mr. Friedenberg accompanied him to the patient, whom he attended to, and then went back with his friend to drink coffee. In a word, these three spirits, Mr. and Mrs. Friedenberg and Stilling, united firmly together, and became intimate friends, without venturing to express it. In the evening, the latter returned to his place; but after this visit, he felt, in some measure, a void; he had never met with such a family since the days of his youth, and would gladly have resided nearer Mr. Friedenberg, in order to associate more with him and his family. Meanwhile, the patient at Rasenheim began to recover, and there were several in that part, and even in Schonenthal itself, who desired his aid; he, therefore, resolved, with the consent of Mr. Spanier, to go every fortnight, on the Saturday afternoon, to visit his patients, and return on the Monday morning. He arranged it so, that he arrived on the Saturday evening at Mr. Frieden- berg’s, then went about on the Sunday morning visiting his patients, even as far as Schénenthal, ana returned back to Rasenheim on the Sunday evening, from whence he went home again on the Monday morning. Through these repeated visits, his intimate connexion with Mr. Fried- enberg and his family became more and more strengthened; he acquired also a pleasing ac- quaintance with many pious people in Schonen- thal, who alternately invited him on Sundays to dine with them, and conversed with him on re- ligion and other good subjects. Things continued thus until the February of the following year, 1770, when Mrs. Frieden- berg was delivered of a daughter. Mr. Frieden- berg not only informed Stilling of this pleasing event, but even requested him to stand sponsor, the following Friday, at the christening of his child. This caused Stilling extreme pleasure. Mr. Spanier, however, could not comprehend how a merchant should come to ask the clerk of another merchant to be godfather to his child; but Stilling was not astonished: at it, for Mr. Friedenberg and he no longer knew of any dif- ference of rank—they were brothers. Stilling, therefore, went, at the time appoint- ed, to assist at the baptism. Now Mr. Frieden- berg had a daughter, who was the eldest of his children, and about that time in her twenty-first year. This young lady had loved quietness and retirement from her youth, and she was, there- fore, reserved towards all strangers, particular- ly when they were better dressed than she was accustomed to. Although this circumstance, as it regarded Stilling, was not an obstacle, yet she avoided him as much as she could, so that he saw her very seldom. Her whole occupation. 71 from her youth up, had consisted in those do- mestic employments which were suited to her sphere of life, and the necessary instruction of the Christian religion according to the evangel- ical Lutheran confession, together with reading and writing; in a word, she was a pretty, agree- able young girl, who had never mixed with the world, so as to be able to live according to the fashion, but whose good disposition richly rec- ompensed for the want of all these insignificant trifles in the estimation of a man of integrity. Stilling had not particularly remarked this young lady in preference to the other children of his friend; he felt within him no impulse to do so, nor did he venture to think of such a thing, because it was necessary, previously, that obsta- cles of a stupendous kind should be removed out of the way. This amiable girl was called Christina; she had been for some time very ill, and all the phy- sicians doubted of her recovery. Now when Stilling came to Rasenheim, he inquired after her, as the daughter of his friend; but as no one gave him an opportunity of visiting her in her apartment, he did not think of it. That evening, however, after the christening was over, Mr. Friedenberg filled his long pipe, and said to the new sponsor, “ Will it afford you pleasure for once to visit my sick daughter? I wish to know what you will say of her. You have already more knowledge of diseases than many.” Stilling consented, and they went up- stairs into the invalid’s chamber. She lay in bed, weak and poorly ; yet still she had much cheerfulness of spirit. She raised herself up, gave Stilling her hand, and asked him to sit down. Both sat down, therefore, at the table, near the bed. Christina did not now feel asha- med in the presence of Stilling, but conversed with him on a variety of religious topics. She became very cheerful and sociable. She was often subject to attacks of a serious nature; so that some one was obliged to sit up with her all night; another reason for which was, because she could not sleep much. When they had sat awhile with her, and were about to leave her, the sick damsel requested her father’s permission for Stilling to sit up with her that night, along with her elder brother. Mr. Friedenberg will- ingly consented, but with the condition that Stilling had no objection to it. The latter was glad to show this piece of friendship to the pa- tient as well as to the family. He betook him- self, therefore, in the evening, with the eldest son, about nine o’clock, to her chamber; they both sat down at the table near the bed, and spoke with her on a variety of subjects in order to pass the time ; they also read aloud to her at intervals. About one o’clock in the morning, the invalid requested her two companions to be quiet a little while, as she thought she should be able to sleep. Accordingly they were so. Young Mr. Fried- enberg, meanwhile, stole down stairs, in order to prepare some coffee; but continuing absent some time, Stilling began to nod in his chair. About an hour after, the patient again began to move. Stilling drew the curtains a little asun- der, and asked her how she had slept? She an- swered, “I have lain in a kind of stupor. 1 will tell you something, Mr. Stilling! I have receiv- ed a very lively impression on my mind, respect- ing a subject which, however, I must not men- tion to you till another time.” At these words, Stilling was powerfully struck; he felt from head to foot a trepidation he had never before 72 HEINRICH experienced, and all at once a beam of light pen- | etrated through his soul like lightning. It was evident to his mind, what the will of God was, and what the words of the sick maiden signified. With tears in his eyes he arose, bent over the bed, and said, ‘‘I know, dear miss, what impres- sion you have received, and what the will of God is.” She raised herself up, stretched out her hand, and replied, ‘‘Do you know it?” Suilling put his right hand into hers, and said, ‘‘ May God in heaven bless us; we are eternally uni- ted!” She answered, ‘ Yes! eternally so!” Her brother now came and brought the coffee, placed it upon the table, and all three partook of it. The invalid was quite as tranquil as before; she was neither more joyful nor more sorrowful —just as if nothing particular had happened. But Stilling was like one intoxicated; he knew not whether he was waking or dreaming; he could neither think nor reflect upon this un- heard-of event. However, he felt in his soul an indescribably tender inclination towards the dear invalid, so that he could joyfully have sacrificed his life for her, if it had been requisite; and this pure flame was as if, without being kindled, a fire had fallen from heaven upon his heart; for certainly, his Christina had, at that time, neither charms, nor the will to charm; and he himself was in such a situation that he shuddered at the thought of marrying. But as aforesaid, he was stupified, and could not reflect upon his sit- uation until the following morning, while he was returning home. He previously took a tender leave of Christina, on which occasion he expressed his fears; but she was quite confident in the matter, and added, ‘‘God has certainly commenced this affair, and he will as certainly finish it!” On the way, Stilling began to reflect upon his situation, and the whole affair appeared dread- fulto him. He was convinced that Mr. Span- jer, aS soon as he was made acquainted with the step he had taken, would immediately with- draw his assistance from him and dismiss him; consequently he would be out of bread, and be placed in his former circumstances, Besides this, he could not possibly imagine that Mr. Friedenberg would be pleased with him; for to betroth himself with his daughter while in a Situation in which he was unable to maintain himself, much less support a wife and children —nay, even while requiring a large sum him- self—this was in reality a miserable return for his friendship; it might rather be looked upon as a dreadful abuse of it. These reflections caused Stilling heartfelt anxiety, and he feared being placed in still more difficult circumstances than he had ever experienced before. He felt like one who has climbed up a high rock by the sea-side, and cannot come down again without the danger of being dashed to pieces; but ven- tures, and leaps into the sea, in the hope of sav- ing himself by swimming. Stilling knew not what to do; he cast himself with his Christina into the arms of the paternal providence of'God, and was then tranquil; but he resolved, notwithstanding, to mention nothing of this event, either to Mr. Spanier or to any one else. Mr. Friedenberg had given Stilling permis- sion to consign to him all the medicines for his patients in that part of the country, to be for- warded to them; he therefore sent off a packet of physic to him on the following Saturday, which was eight days after his betrothment, and this he accompanied by a letter, which flowed ao: STILLING. entirely from his heart, and which pretty clearly revealed what was passing in it; nay, what was still more, he even inclosed in it a sealed letter to Christina; and he did all this without consid- ering or reflecting what might result from it; but when the packet was despatched, he began to consider what the consequences might be. His er beat, and he could scarcely contain him- self. Never had he found a journey more laborious than his customary one to Rasenheim, which he took the week following, on the Saturday even- ing. ‘The nearer he came to the house, the more his heart palpitated. He entered the parlour: Christina had recovered a little; she was there, with her parents, and some of the children. He went up to Mr. Friedenberg with his usual pleasant look, gave him his hand, and the latter received him with his wonted friendship, as did also Mrs. Friedenberg, and last of all, Christina. Stilling then left the room, and went into his bed-chamber, in order to lay down a few things he had with him. His heart was already light- er; for his friend had either perceived nothing, or else was satisfied with the whole affair. He now went down again, expecting what further would take place. On arriving at the bottom of the stairs, Christina, who was standing at the door of a room opposite the palour, beckoned to him to enter; she closed the door afier him, and both sat down together. Christina then began: ““Oh how much you terrified me by your letter! my parents know all. Listen, and [ will tell you every thing as it occurred. When the letters came, I was in the parlour with my father, but my mother was on the bedin her chamber. My father broke open the letter; he found another in it for me, and handed it to me, with the words, ‘There is also a letter for thee.’ I blushed, took it, and read it. My father also read his, some- times shook his head, stood, considered, and then. read further. At length, he went into the cham- ber to my mother; I could hear all that was said. My father read the letter to her. When he had finished, my mother laughed, and said, ‘Dost thou understand what the letter means 3 he has a mind to our daughter.’ My father an- swered, ‘That is not possible; he was only one night with her, with my son; besides which, she is ill; and yet the letter seems to me to imply something of the kind.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ said my mother; ‘do not think otherwise; itis so.” My father then went out, and said nothing more. My mother immediately called out to me, and said, ‘Come, Christina, lie down a little by me; thou art certainly weary of sitting.’ I went to her, and lay down by her. ‘Hear me,’ she be- gan; ‘has our friend Stilling an inclination for thee? I boldly said, ‘Yes, he has.’ She con- tinued, ‘You have not, however, promised mar- riage to each other? ‘Yes, mother,’ I answer- ed, ‘we are betrothed;’ and I was then obliged to weep. ‘Indeed! said my mother; ‘how did that happen? for you have not been alone to- gether!’ I then related to her every thing cir- cumstantially, as it had occurred, and told her the plain truth. She was astonished at it, and said, ‘Thou art involving thyself in difficulties. Stilling must first study, before you can live to- gether; how wilt thou bear that? Besides, thou art but weak in mind and body.’ I answered, that I would do as well as I was able—the Lord would assist me; that I must marry him; yet if my parents forbade it, 1 would obey them; but I would never take another. ‘Thou hast nothing. ° STILLINGS WANDERINGS. to fear,’ rejoined my mother. As soon as my parents were again alone in the room, and I in the parlour, she related every thing to my father, just as Lhad told her. He was long silent; but at length he said, ‘I have never heard of such a thing before; 1 can say nothing to it.’ Thus the matter still stands; my father has not said a word to me, either good or bad. But it is now our duty to ask our parents this very evening, and obtain their full consent. Just as you went up-stairs, my father said to me, ‘Go with Suill- ing into the other room alone; thou hast proba- bly something to say to him,’” Stilling’s heart leaped for joy. He felt that the matter would terminate favorably. He conversed some time longer with his beloved, and they bound themselves once more, in a close embrace, to inviolable fidelity, and an upright deportment before God and man. After supper in the evening, when all besides in the house were asleep, Mr. and Mrs. Fried- enberg, together with Christina and Stilling, eontinued sitting in the parlour. The latter then began, and faithfully related the whole event in all its minutest details, and concluded with these words: ‘“‘ Now I ask you sincerely, if you are heartily willing to receive me into the number of your children? I will faithfully, with the help of God, fulfil every filial duty, and I sol- emnly protest against all help and assistance towards my studies. JI request your daughter alone; yes, I take God to witness, that it is the most dreadful thought I could have, were I to imagine you perhaps might think I had any mean intention in this connection.” Mr. Friedenberg sighed deeply, and a few tears ran down his cheeks. “Yes,” said he, “my dear friend, I am satisfied, and willingly accept you for my son; for I see that the finger of God is at work in the matter. I cannot say any thing against it; besides, I know you, and am well aware that you are too honorable to have such unchristian intentions; but this I must candidly add, that I am not at all in a sit- uation to bear the expense of your studying at the university.” He then turned to Christina, and said, ‘“‘But hast thou sufficient confidence in thyself to be able to bear the long absence of thy triend?’ She answered, “Yes; God will give me strength for it.” Mr. Friedenberg now rose up, embraced Still- ing, kissed him, and wept on his neck; after him, Mrs. Friedenberg did the same. ‘The sen- sations which Stilling experienced are inexpres- sible; it seemed to him as if he were translated into paradise. He did not trouble himself in the least whence the money for the prosecution of his studies was to come from. ‘The words, “The Lord will provide,” were so deeply engra- ven on his soui, that he could not feel anxious. Mr. Friedenberg advised him to continue that year with Mr. Spanier, and to betake himself to the university the following autumn. This was just what Stilling wished, and had also been his intention, Finally, they all resolved to keep the matter a profound secret, in order to prevent the misjudgings of others; and then by fervent pray- er on al] sides, entreated the blessing of God on this important undertaking. Stilling therefore still continued in his situa- sion with Mr. Spanier, as well as his customary walks to Rasenheim and Schonenthal. A quar- ter of a year before Michaclmas, he announced his intention to Mr. Spanier, in a polite and friendly manner, and besought him not to take K 73 this step amiss, since, being in the thirtieth year of his age, it was at length time for him to pro- vide for himself. To all this, Mr. Spanier did not answer a word, but remained perfectly si- lent; from that time, however, his heart was en- tirely turned away from Stilling, so that the last three months were not a little painful to him— not because any one threw any difficulty in his way, but because friendship and familiarity had wholly disappeared. Four weeks before the Frankfort autumnal fair, Stilling took leave of his former dear pa- tron, and the whole household. Mr. Spanier wept bitterly, but did not say a word, either good orevil. Stilling weptalso; and thus he lett his last school or situation as tutor, and removed to his friends at Rasenheim, after having quietly spent seven entire and pleasant years in one lace. ; Mr. Spanier had never communicated his true intentions with regard to Stilling. It was im- possible for the latter to enter into his plan of becoming a doctor merely as regards the title, without possessing sufficient knowledge; and as Mr. Spanier did not fully communicate to him the rest of his plan, Stilling could not be ac- quainted with it, much less depend upon it. Besides all this, Providence led him, as it were, with might and power, without his coéperation ; so that he was obliged to follow its guidance, even though he had resolved upon something different for himself. But the most disadvan- tageous circumstance for Stilling was, that hav- ing never made any certain agreement with Mr. Spanier with regard to salary, the worthy man gave him only what was sufficient for his neces- sities. But as he had been in the habit of pur- chasing books and other requisites—which, ta- ken altogether, made something considerable yearly—Mr. Spanier gave him nothing at his departure; so that he arrived at Mr. Frieden- berg’s, at Rasenheim, without money. ‘The lat- ter, however, immediately advanced him a hun- dred rix-dollars to procure what was most ne- cessary for his journey, and the remainder he was to take with him; whilst his Christian friends at Schonenthal presented him with a new coat, and offered their further assistance. Stilling continued four weeks with his in- tended and her family, during which time he made preparations for removing to the universi- ty. He had not yet made choice of one, but waited for an intimation from his Heavenly Fa- ther; for since he intended to study simply from faith, it was necessary he should not follow his own will in any thing. At the end of three weeks, he went once more to Schonenthal to visit his friends there. On his arrival, a very dear and valued friend asked him whither he intended to go. He replied, he did not know. ‘‘Oh,” said she, ‘‘ our neighbour, Mr. Troost, is going to Strasburg to spend a winter there; go with him.” This touched Still- ing’s heart; he felt that this was the intimation he had waited for. Meanwhile, Mr. Troost himself entered the room. Stilling’s friend im- mediately began to speak to him concerning him. The worthy man was heartily pleased at having him for a companion, for he had already heard something of him. Mr. Troost was, at that time, a man of about forty years of age, and still unmarried. He had already practised for twenty years, with much celebrity, as a surgeon in Schénenthal; but be- ing no longer satisfied with his knowledge, he 74 ‘determined once more to study anatomy thor- oughly, at Strasburg, and attend other surgical lectures, in order to return furnished with new powers, that he might be able to serve his neigh- bours the more effectually. He had already spent some years at this celebrated university in his youth, and there laid the foundation of his knowledge. Now this was just the proper man for Stilling. He had the best and noblest of hearts, composed entirely of philanthropy and friendship ; and possessed, besides this, an excellent character, much religion, and the virtues resulting from it. He knew the world, and was well acquainted with Strasburg; and certainly it was a very pa- ternal guidance of Providence, that Stilling be- came acquainted with him just at that time. He therefore immediately made friends with Mr. Troost. They agreed to travel to Frank- fort with merchants proceeding to the fair, and from thence to Strasburg by a return-chaise ; they also decided upon the day of their depart- ure, which was fixed for that day week. Stilling had already communicated to his fa- ther and uncle, in the province of Salen, his fur- ther and singular guidance; they were terrified and astonished; they feared, hoped, and confess- ed that they must resign him entirely to God, and merely stand at a distance, and contemplate his aspiring flight with fear and trembling ; meanwhile they wished him every imaginable blessing. Stilling’s situation was now, in every respect, dreadful. Let any rational man imagine him- self in his place, and fecl! He had betrothed himself with a tender, pious, susceptible, but at the same time sickly young woman, whom he loved more than his own soul, and who was pronounced by all the physicians to be consump- tive, so that he had great reason to fear when he took leave of her that he should see her no more. Besides this, he felt all the painful sufferings which her tender and affectionate heart would have to endure for such a length of time. The whole of his future welfare depended solely on his becoming a complete physician, and for this purpose a thousand rix dollars at least were re- quisite, of which he could not tell where in the whole world to raise a hundred; consequently his situation was critical, even in this respect; if he failed in the latter point, he would fail in every thing. Yet, although Stilling placed all this before him in a very lively manner, he nevertheless fixed his confidence firmly on God, and drew this inference: “God begins nothing without terminating it gloriously. Now it is most cer- tainly true, that He alone has ordered my pres- ent circumstances, entirely without my coépera- tion: consequently, it is also most certainly true, that he will accomplish every thing regarding me in a manner worthy of him.” This conclusion frequently rendered him so courageous, that he smilingly said to his friends at Rasenheim, “I wonder from what quarter my Heavenly Father will provide me with money !” However, he did not communicate his peculiar situation to any other individual, and especially not to Mr. Troost, for this tender friend would have hesitated much to take him with him; or he would at least have had to endure much anx- iety on his accounts At length, the day of his departure approach- ed; Christina swam in tears, and occasionally fainted away, and the whole house was troubled. HEINRICH STILLING. The Jast evening, Mr. Friedenberg and Still- ing sat together alone. The former could not refrain from weeping. He said with tears to Stilling, ‘My dear friend, I am heartily con- cerned about you; how gladly would I provide you with money, if I were able! I began my business and manufactory with nothing, and I am now just in a situation to maintain myself respectably; but were I to bear the expense of your studies, I should quite lose ground again. Besides this, I have ten children; and what I do for the first, I owe to all.” “Hear me, my dear friend,” answered Still- ing, with a cheerful courage and a joyful mien; “] do not wish for a farthing from you; believe assuredly, that He who was able to feed so many thousand people in the desert with a little bread, lives still, and to Him Icommit myself. He will certainly find out means. Do not you therefore be anxious—‘ The Lord will provide.’ ” He had already sent off his books, clothes, and luggage to Frankfort; and the next morn- ing, after having breakfasted with his friends, he ran up to the chamber of his Christina, where she sat and wept. He took her in his arms, kissed her, and said, “‘ Farewell, my angel !— the Lord strengthen thee, and preserve thee in health and happiness, till we see each other again!” So saying, he ran out of the door. He then took leave of every one, hastened away, and wept copiously on the road. Chris- tina’s elder brother accompanied him to Schén- enthal. The latter then turned back sorrow- fully, and Stilling repaired to his travelling com- panion. I will say nothing respecting his journey to Frankfort. They all arrived there in safety, with the exception of having suffered a violent fright in the neighbourhood of Ellefeld on the Rhine. Forty rix-dollars was the whole of Stilling’s property on setting out from Rasenheim. They were compelled to remain eleven days at Frank- fort, waiting for an opportunity to proceed fur- ther; indeed, Mr. Troost could not leave soon- er; his money consequently melted away in such a manner, that two days before his depart- ure for Strasburg, he had only a single rix-dollar left, and this was all the money he had in the world. He said nothing of it to any one, but waited for the assistance of his Heavenly Fa- ther. However, notwithstanding his courage, he was still uneasy, he walked about, and pray- ed inwardly to God. Meanwhile, he happened to reach the Romerberg, and there met with a merchant from Schénenthal, who knew him well, and was also a friend of his; I will call him Liebmann, Mr. Liebmann saluted him in a friendly man- ner, and asked him how it fared with him. He answered, “ Very well.” “Iam glad of it,” re- joined the other; ‘come this evening to my apartment, and sup with me on what I have.” Stilling promised to do so, and Mr. Liebmann then showed him where he was lodging. In the evening he went to the place appointed, After supper, Mr. Liebmann began as follows: ‘Tell me, my friend, who furnishes you with money to enable you to study?” Stilling smi- led, and answered, “I havea rich Father in heay- en; He will provide for me.” Mr. Liebmann looked at him, and continued, “ How much have you at present?” Stilling answered, “ One rix- dollar—and that is all.” “So!” rejoined Lieb- mann; “Iam one of your Father’s stewards; I STILLINGS WANDERINGS. will therefore now act the paymaster.” On this he handed over thirty-three rix-dollars to Still- ing, and said, “I cannot at present spare more ; you will find assistance everywhere. If you are subsequently able to return me the money, well! if not, it is no matter.” Stilling felt warm tears in his eyes. He thanked him heartily for his kindness, and added, “I am now rich enough. I do not wish to have more.” ‘This first trial made him so courageous, that he no longer doubt- ed that the Lord would certainly help him through every difficulty. He also received letters from Rasenheim, from Mr. Friedenberg and Christi- na. The latter had taken courage, and stead- fastly determined to wait patiently. The former wrote to him in the most tender language, and commended him te the paternal providence of God. He answered the two letters likewise with all possible tenderness and affection. How- ever, he mentioned nothing of this first trial of his faith, but merely wrote that he had abun- dance. Two days after Mr. Troost met with a return- chaise to Manheim, which he hired for himself and Stilling, in company with an honest mer- chant from Lucerne, in Switzerland. They then took leave of all their acquaintances and friends, took their seats in the chaise, and pro- ceeded on their way. In order to pass the time pleasantly, each re- lated what he knew. Their Swiss companion became so sociable that he opened his whole heart to our two travellers. Stilling was affect- ed by it; and he related his whole life, with all its particulars, so that the Swiss gentleman often shed tears of sympathy. Mr. Troost also had never heard it before; he was likewise much moved by it, and his friendship for Stilling be- came so much the greater. At Manheim they again took a return-chaise to Strasburg. On entering the great forest be- tween Speyer and Lauterburg, Stilling alighted. He was unaccustomed to riding, and could not well bear the motion of the chaise, particularly in sandy roads. The Swiss gentleman alighted also, but Mr. Troost remained in the carriage. While the two travellers were thus walking to- gether, the Swiss asked Stilling whether he would not part with Molitor’s manuscripts, since he pos- sessed a copy of it, for five louis-d’ors. Stilling regarded this again as a hint from God, and therefore promised it to him. They at length got into the chaise again. Whilst conversing on a variety of subjects, Mr. Troost, very mal-apropos, began to speak of the manuscript above-mentioned. It was his opin- ion, that when Stilling had once finished his studies, he would put little value on such se- erets and quackery, because they were never what they pretended to be. This made the Swiss gentleman prefer his five louis-d’ors to the manu- script. Had Mr. Troost been aware of what had passed between the two, he would certainly have been silent on the subject. Our travellers arrived safe and well at Stras- burg, and took up their quarters with counsellor Blesig, at the sign of the Axe. Stilling, as well as his friend, wrote home, and announced their safe arrival to their several friends. Stillig could not rest until he had viewed the beautiful cathedral, both externally and inter- nally. He was so much delighted with it, that he publicly said, “‘The sight of it alone was worth the journey; it is well it was built by a German.” The next day they inscribed them- 75 selves as members of the university; and Mr. Troost, who was known there, sought for a con- venient apartment for them both. This he found also according to Kis wish; for in the most con- venient place for them dwelt a rich and respect- able merchant, of the name of R——, whose brother had resided in Schonenthal, and he there- fore showed kindness to Mr. Troost and his com- panion. ‘This gentleman let them an excellent- ly-furnished room on the first floor, for a moder- ate price, of which they accordingly took pos- session. Mr. Troost next went in search ofa good eat- ing-house ; and this he likewise found close at hand, where there was an excellent dinner-club. Here he agreed for himself and Stilling by the month. The latter, meanwhile, inquired about the lectures, and attended as many of them as were held. Physics, chemistry, and anatomy were his chief objects, and these he immediately entered upon. The next day at noon, they went, for the first time, to the table-d’héte to dine. They were the first there, and their places were pointed out to them. About twenty persons dined at this table, and they saw them enter one after another. In particular, there came one into the room, very briskly, with large bright eyes, beautiful fore- head, and handsome figure. ‘This person attract- ed the eyes of Mr. Troost and Stilling ; the for- mer said to the latter, ‘‘ What a fine-looking man!” Stilling was of the same opinion; how- ever, he thought that they would both have much trouble with him, because they looked upon him as a wild young fellow; this he inferred from the freedom of manner assumed by the student ; however, Stilling was mistaken. Meanwhile they heard that this remarkable individual was called ‘‘ Goethe.” There were also two other students of medi- cine; the one from Vienna, the other from Al- sace. The name of the first was Waldberg. He showed, in his whole deportment, that he ossessed ability; but at the same time, a heart ull of ridicule against religion, and full of licen- tiousness in his manners. The one from Alsace was called Melzer, and was rather foppish; he had a good disposition, but unfortunately was inclined to be irascible and mistrustful. He had his seat next to Stilling, and soon became very friendly with him. Then came a student of di- vinity of the name of Lerse, one of the most ex- cellent of men; he was Géethe’s favourite, and this partiality he justly merited; for his abilities were great, he was a good divine, and had be- sides the rare gift of uttering the most striking satirical things in the presence of persons of vicious habits. His temper was extremely no- ble. Another came who took his place near Goethe; I will say nothing more of him, than that he was a good daw in peacock’s feathers. A very worthy Strasburger sat also at table. His place was the uppermost, and would have been so, if it had been behind the door. His modesty does not permit me to panegyrize him ; it was Mr. Saltzmann the registrar. If my read- ers can imagine to themselves a man possessing the most thorough and sentimental philosophy, combined with the most genuine piety —they will form an idea of Saltzmann. Géethe and Saltzmann were cordial friends. Mr. Troost said in a low voice to Stilling, “We shall do best to be silent here for the first fortnight.” The latter recognized the truth of this remark; they therefore said nothing, nor did 76 HEINRK CH any one take particular notice of them, except that Goethe sometimes rolled his eyes upon them; he sat opposite Stilling, and had the pres- idency of the table, without seeking it. Mr. Troost was very useful to Stilling; he knew the world better, and could therefore lead him safely through; without him, Stilling would have stumbled a hundred times. Thus kind was his Heavenly Father towards him, so that he even provided him with a guardian, who could not only assist him in word and deed, but from whom he could also receive instruction and direction in his studies; for certainly Mr. Troost was an able and experienced surgeon. Stilling having now made all his arrange- ments, pursued his course heroically; he was in his element; he eagerly attended to every thing he heard; but he neither transcribed lec- tures nor any thing else, but transferred every thing into general ideas. Happy is he who knows how to practise this method well; but it is not given to every one. His two professors, the celebrated Messieurs Spielmann and Lob- stein, soon observed him, and became fond of him, particularly because he conducted himself in a grave, manly, and retired manner. But his thirty-three rix-dollars had now melt- ed down again to a single one; on which ac- count, therefore, he began again to pray fervent- ly. God heard and answered him; for Just at the time of need, Mr. Troost began to say to him one morning, “ You have, I believe, brought no money with you; I will lend you six Carolines (about five pounds) until you receive a remit- tance.” Although Stilling knew as little where a remittance as money was to come from, yet he accepted this friendly offer, and Mr. Troost paid him six louis-d’ors. Who was it that exct- ted the heart of his friend to make this offer, at the wery moment when it was needed ? Mr. Troost was dressed neatly and fashion- ably; Stilling likewise pretty much so. He had on a dark-brown coat, with velveteen trowsers ; he had, however, still a round wig, which he wished to wear hy turns with his bag-wigs. He put this on, on one occasion, and appeared with it at the dinner-table. No one troubled himself about it, except Mr. Waldberg from Vienna. The latter looked at him, and as he had already heard that Stilling was inclined to be very reli- gious, he began by asking him, whether Adam wore a round wig in paradise? All laughed heartily, except Saltzmann, Goethe, and Troost —they did not laugh. Stilling’s anger pervaded every limb, and he answered, “‘ You ought to be ashamed of such ridicule. Such a common- place idea is not worth a laugh!” But Goethe interrupted him, and added, ‘Try a man first, whether he deserves to be ridiculed. It is dev- ilish to make a jest of a worthy man, who has offended no one.” From that time, Goethe took Stilling’s part, visited him, became fond of him, made an alliance of friendship and fraternity with him, and labored on every occasion to show him kindness. It is lamentable that so few persons know the heart of this excellent man, After Martinmas, lectures on midwifery were announced, and those who were desirous of at- tending them were invited. This was a princi- Ee thing with Stilling; he therefore presented imself, on the Monday evening, with others, in order to subscribe. He had no idea but that these lectures would be paid for, like the others, after they were ended; but how was he dismay- STILLING. ed, when the doctor announced that the gentle- men would please pay six louis-d’ors each for the lectures, the following Thursday evening! There was, therefore, an exception in this case, and that for a good reason. Now if Stilling did not pay on the day fixed, his name would be struck out. This would have been disgraceful, and would have weakened the credit which Still- ing absolutely required. He was therefore at a loss what to do. Mr. Troost had already ad- vanced him six louis-d’ors, and there was still no prospect of being able to return them. As soon as Stilling entered his apartment, and found it empty—for Mr. Troost was gone to at- tend a lecture—he shut the door after him, threw himself down in a corner, and wrestled earnest- ly with God for aid and compassion. The Thursday evening however arrived, without any thing of a consoling nature manifesting it- self. It was already five o’clock; and six was. the time that he ought to have the money. Still- ing’s faith began almost to fail; he broke out into a perspiration with anxiety, and his whole face was wet with tears. He felt no more cour- age or faith, and therefore he looked forward to the future as to a hell with all its torments. Whilst he was pacing the room occupied with such ideas, some one knocked at the door. He called out, “Come in!” It was their landlord, Mr. R——. He entered the room, and after the customary compliments, he began, ‘‘] am come to see how you are, and whether you are salis- fied with your lodging.” (Mr. Troost was still not there, and knew nothing of Stilling’s present struggles.) Stilling answered, “ Your inquiries after my health do me much honor; I am well, thank God! and your apartment is quite accord- ing to the wish of both of us.” Mr. R—— rejoined, ‘‘I am very glad of it, particularly as I see you are such well-hehaved and worthy people. But I wished particularly to ask you one thing: have you brought money with you, or do you expect bills?” Stilling now felt like Habakkuk, when the angel.took him by the hair of his head to carry him to Babylon. He answered, ‘‘ No, I have brought no money with me.” Mr. R—— stood, looked at him fixedly, and said, “‘ For God’s sake, how will you be able to proceed ?” Stilling answered, “ Mr. Troost has already lent me something.” ‘But he requires his money himself,” rejoined Mr. R——. ‘I will advance you money, as much as you need; and when you rective your remittance, you need only give the bill to me, that you may have no trouble in disposing of it. Are you in want of any money at present?” Stilling could scarce- ly refrain from crying out; however, he restrain- ed himself, so as not to show his feelings. “Yes,” said he, “I have need of six louis-d’ors this evening, and I was at a loss.” Mr. R was shocked, and replied, ‘“‘ Yes, I dare say you are! I now see that God has sent me to your assistance,” and went out of the room. Stilling felt at this moment like Daniel in the lion’s den, when Habakkuk brought bim his food; he was overpowered by his feelings, and was scarcely aware of Mr. R——’s reenter- ing the room. This excellent man brought eight louis-d’ors, handed them to him, and went away. In the sphere in which Stilling now moved, he had daily temvtations enough to become a. STILLINGS WANDERINGS. ‘sceptic in religion. He heard, every day, new reasons against the Bible, against Christianity, ‘and against the principles of the Christian reli- gion. All the proofs he had ever collected, and which had always hitherto tranquillized him, were no longer suflicient to satisfy his inflexible reason; the trials of faith alone, of which he had already experienced so many in the deal- ings of Divine Providence with him, made him quite invincible. He therefore concluded as follows: ‘“‘ He who so obviously hears the pray- ers of men, and guides their destinies so won- derfully and visibly, must, beyond dispute, be the true God, and his doctrine the word of God. Now I have ever adored and worshipped Jesus Christ, as my God and Saviour. He has heard me in the hour of need, and wonderfully sup- ported and succoured me. Consequently Jesus Christ is incontestably the true God, his doctrine is the word of God and his religion, as He has instituted it, the true religion.” This inference, indeed, was of no value to others, but it was perfectly sufficient for himself, to defend him from all doubts. As soon as Mr. R—— was gone, Stilling fell on the door, thanked God with tears, and cast himself anew into His paternal arms, afier which he went to the college, and paid as well as the best. Whilst this was passing in Strasburg, Mr. Liebmann of Schénenthal paid a visit, on one occasion, to Mr. Friedenberg, at Rasenheim, for they were very good friends. Liebmann knew nothing of Stilling’s alliance with Christina, al- though he was well aware that Friedenberg was his cordial friend. Whilst they were sitting together, the conver- sation turned upon their friend at Strasburg. Liebmann was never weary in relating how Mr. Troost commended Stilling’s industry, genius, and good success in his studies. Friedenberg and his family, particularly Christina, were heartily delighted at it. Liebmann could not comprehend whence he had his money, any more than Fried- enberg. ‘ Well,” continued Liebmann, “I wish some friend would join with me; we would re- mit him, for once, a considerable sum.” Mr. Fridenberg perceived this leading of Prov- idence, and he could scarcely refrain from tears. But Christina ran up-stairs into her room, cast herself before God, and prayed. Friedenberg replied, “I will join with you in it.” Liebmann rejoiced, and said, ‘‘ Well then, do you count out one hundred and fifty rix-dollars; 1 will add as many more to them, and send off the bill to him.” Friedenberg willingly did so. A fortnight after the severe trial of faith which Stilling had endured, he received, quite unex- pectedly, a letter from Mr. Liebmann, together with a bill for three hundred rix-dollars. He laughed aloud, placed himself against the win- dow, cast a joyful look towards heaven, and said, * This is only possible with thee, thou Almighty Father!—may my whole life be devoted to thy praise!” He now paid Mr. Troost, Mr. R——, and others to whom he was indebted, and retained enough to enable him to get through the winter. His manner of life at Strasburg was so remark- able, that the whole university spoke of him. Philosophy had been, from the first, the science to which his spirit most peculiarly inclined. In order to exercise himself in it the more, he re- solved to read a public lecture in his apartment, in the evenings, from five to six o’clock, at which 77 hour he was at leisure. For as he hada good natural gift of eloquence, he the more readily resolved to do this, partly to rehearse what he had heard, and exercise himself further in it, and partly also to attain an ability for speaking in public. As he demanded nothing for it, and as this lecture was regarded as a repetition, he suc- ceeded in it, without any one objecting toit. He obtained a number of hearers, and in conse- quence, many acquaintances and friends. His own lectures he never neglected. He prepared his own studies in anatomy with pleas- ure and delight; and what he had prepared, he demonstrated publicly, so that both professors and students were astonished at him. Professor Lobstein, who, as is well known, occupied this department with the greatest celebrity, grew very fond of him, and spared no pains to instruct him thoroughly in the science. He also visited, that winter, the sick in the hospitals, with Professor Ehrmann. He there observed the diseases, and in the dissecting-room, their causes. In a word, he took all possible pains in order to attaina thorough knowledge of the science of physic. Goethe gave him another direetion in refer- ence to polite literature. He made him ac- quainted with Ossian, Shakspeare, Fielding, and Sterne; and in this manner, Stilling made a transition out of nature into nature. There was also a society of young people at Strasburg, who called themselves the Society of the Belles Let- tres, to which he was invited, and received as a member; here he became acquainted with the best works, and the present state of polite litera- ture in the world. During that winter Herder came to Stras- burg; Stilling was made aequainted with him by Géethe and Troost. He never in his life ad- mired any one so much as this man, of whom it has been said, “‘ Herder has only one idea, and that is a whole world.” He furnished Stilling with a sketch of all things in one,—I cannot call it otherwise; and if a spirit ever received an im- petus to an eternal movement, Stilling received it from Herder, and this because he harmonised with this excellent genius, with respect to natu- ~ ral disposition, more than with Géethe. The spring approached, and Mr. Troost made preparations for his departure. ‘Though Stilling deeply felt the separatioa from such a worthy man, yet he had now the best acquaintance in Strasburg, and besides this, he hoped in the course of a year to be with him again. He gave ‘him letters to carry with him; and as Mr. Troost had discovered that he was betrothed, Stilling besought him to go to Rasenheim, the first op- portunity, and relate to his friends personally every particular respecting his present position. Thus this worthy man set off again, in April, for the Low-lands, after having once more gone through the studies of the sciences he most re- quired, with the greatest industry. But Stilling courageously continued his academical course. The Tuesday before Whitsuntide was fixed for the marriage of the son of one of the Profes- surs, on which account there were no lectures. Stilling therefore determined to spend the day in his own apartment, and study for himself. At nine o’clock, a sudden panic seized him; his heart beat like a hammer, and he knew not what was the matter with him. He rose up, paced the room, and felt an irresistible impulse to set off home. He started at this idea, and consider- ed the loss he might sustain both with regard to money and with respect to his studies. He at 78 HEINRICH length believed it was only a hypochondriacal chimera; he therefore strove to repel it from his mind by force, and sat down again to his studies. But the uneasiness he felt was so great, that he was obliged to rise up again. He was now re- ally troubled; there was something in him which powerfully urged him to return home. Stilling knew not whither he should look for counsel or comfort. He represented to himself what people might think of him, were he to trav- el fifty German miles at a venture, and perhaps find every thing at home in the best situation. But as his anxiety and the impulse he felt still continued, he betook himself to prayer, and be- sought the Lord, if it were His will that he should travel home, to give him an assurance respecting the cause of it. Whilst praying thus within himself, Mr. R——’s clerk entered the room, and brought him the following letter :— “ Reasenheim, 9th May, 1774. “My DEARLY BELOVED I['RIEND, “T doubt not that you have duly received the letters from my wife, son, and Mr. Troost. You must not be alarmed when I inform you, that your dear Christina is rather poorly. She has been, for the last two days, so extremely ill, that she is now very—very weak. My heart is so affected by it, that floods of tears run down my cheeks. However, I must not write much of this; I might be saying too much. I sigh and pray most heartily for the dear child; and also for ourselves, that we may filially resign our- selves to God’s holy will. May the Eternal and Most Merciful be gracious unto allof us! Your dear Christina is pleased at my writing to you on this occasion, for she is so weak that she can- not say much. I must cease writing a little; may the Almighty God put it into my heart what to write! I will go on in God’s name; and must tell you that your beloved Christina, according to human appearance—be firm, my dearest friend! —has not many days to spend here, before she will enter her eternal rest; however, I write ac- cording as we men view the matter. Now, my beloved friend—I think my heart will melt; I cannot write much more to you. Your dear Christina would gladly see you once more in this world; but what shall I say to, or advise you? I can write no further, for the tears flow so rapidly upon the paper. O God, thou know- est me, and that I will gladly pay the expenses of the journey ;—but I dare not advise you: ask advice of the true Counsellor, to whom I hearti- ly commend you. Myself, my wife, your be- trothed, and the children, salute you a thousand times. “T am, eternally, “ Your affectionate friend, “PrTER FRIEDENBERG.” Stilling threw himself like a madman from one side of the room to another; he did not sob nor weep, but looked like one who despaired of his salvation; at length he recollected himself so far as to throw off his morning-gown, put on his clothes, and then ran, as well as he was able, with the letter, to Goethe. As soon as he enter- ed his room, he exclaimed, in the agony of his soul, ‘‘Iam lost!—there, read the letter!” Goethe read it, started up, looked at him with tears in his eyes, and said, “Thou poor Stilling!” He then went back with him to his lodging; an- other true friend, to whom Stilling related his misfortune, also accompanied them. Géethe and this friend packed up what was needful in STILLING. his portmanteau, another inquired for an oppor- tunity for him by which he might take his de- parture; which was soon found, for a vessel lay ready on the Preusch, that would set sail at noon for Mayence, the captain of which readily took Stilling with him. ‘The latter, meanwhile, wrote a few lines to his friends, to announce his speedy arrival. After Goethe had packed his portman- teau, he ran to procure some provisions for his: friend, and carried them on board the vessel. Stilling went with him, prepared for his journey. Here they took leave of each other with many tears. Stilling set sail in reliance on Divine protection; and after commencing his journey, felt his mind more at ease, and he had the pre- sentiment that he would find his Christina still alive, and that she would get better; however, he took several books with him, in order to con- tinue his studies at home. It was just the most convenient time for him to travel; for most of the lectures had ceased, and the most important had not yet recommenced. Nothing remarkable occurred on the voyage to Mayence. He arrived there on the Friday evening, at six o’clock, paid for his passage, took his portmanteau under his arm, and ran to the Rhine bridge, in order to find a conveyance to Cologne. He there heard that a large covered barge had left two hours before, which would stop the night at Bingen. A boatman imme- diately stepped up to him, and promised Stilling to take him thither in three hours, for four guild~- ers, although it is six leagues from Mayence to Bingen, Stilling agreed with him. Whilst the boatman was making ready to depart, a smart. little fellow of about fifteen years of age, with a small portmanteau, came up to Stilling, and ask- ed whether he would permit him to travel with him to Cologne. Stilling consented; and as he promised the boatman two guilders more, the latter was also satisfied. The two travellers, therefore, entered the three- boarded boat. Stilling was not pleased with it from the first, and expressed his apprehensions, but the two boatmen Jaughed at him. They then set off. The water came within two fin- gers’ breadth of the edge of the boat; and when Stilling, who was rather tall, moved a little, he thought it would have upset, and then the water really came into the boat. This sort of conveyance was dreadful to him, and he wished himself heartily on terra firma: however, in order to pass the time, he entered into conversation with his little fellow-traveller. He heard, with astonishment, that this youth was the son of a rich widow in H——, and in- tended, just as he sat with him, to travel quite alone to the Cape of Good Hope, in order to visit his brother there. Stilling was astonished above measure, and asked him whether his mother had consented to his journey? ‘“ By no means,” answered the boy; “I went away from her secretly; she had me arrested at Mayence,, but I entreated her, until she permitted me to. travel, and sent me a bill for eleven hundred guilders. I have an uncle at Rotterdam, to whom I am addressed, and who will assist me further.” Stilling was now at ease with respect to the young man, for he did not doubt that this uncle would have secret orders to detain him by force, During this conversation, Stilling felt a cold- ness at his feet, and on looking down, found that the water was forcing itself into the boat, and that the boatman behind him was bailing it out. STILLING’S WANDERINGS. as tast as he could. He now became seriously alarmed, and requested peremptorily to be set on shore on the Bingen side, saying that he would gladly give them the money agreed upon, and walk to Bingen on foot; however, the boatmen refused to do so, and continued rowing. Stilling therefore also betook himself to baling, and with his companion, had enough to do to keep the boat empty. Meanwhile, it grew dark; they ap- proached the rocks, the wind rose, and a storm seemed coming on. The youth began to tremble in the boat, and Stilling fell into a deep melan- choly, which was increased on perceiving how the boatmen spoke to each other by signs, so that they certainly intended something evil. It was now quite dark; the storm approached, the wind blew tempestuously, and it lightened, so that the boat rolled about, and its destruction appeared more certain every moment. Stilling turned inwardly to God, and earnestly prayed that he might be preserved, particularly if Chris- tina should be still alive; lest by the dreadful news of his unfortunate end, she should breathe out her soul in sorrow. But if she had already entered into her rest, he resigned hims~If cheer- fully to the will of God. Whilst immersed in these reflections, he looked up, and saw, a little way before him, the mast of a yacht; he called out with a loud voice for help, and in a few mo- ments, one of the sailors was on deck with a lan- tern, and a long boat-hook. The boatmen row- ed with all their might in a contrary direction; but they could not succeed, for as they were rowing towards the shore, the wind and the stream drove them to the yacht, and before they were aware, the hook was in the boat, and the boat along-side the yacht. Stilling and his com- panion were on deck with their portmanteaus, before the villains of boatmen perceived it. The sailor held the lantern to them, and began to ex- claim, “Ha, ha! are you the wicked rascals that drowned two travellers down yonder a few weeks ago? Only wait till I come again to Mayence.” Stilling threw them their full pay into the boat, and let them go. How happy was he, and how did he thank God, after escaping this danger! ‘They then went down into the cabin. The men were from Coblentz, and honest people. They all supped together; and the two travel- lers lay down on the luggage that was there, and slept quietly until day-break, when they found themselves before Bingen; they gave the sailors a handsome gratuity, left the vessel, and saw the barge in which they wished to sail to Cologne, moored there to a post. Not far from the shore was an inn, into which Stilling went with his comrade, and entered a room, the floor of which was strewed with straw. In one corner lay a man of a pleasing and re- spectable appearance; at a little distance from him, a soldier; a step further, a young man, who looked as like a drunken student as one egg does to another. The first had on a cotton cap drawn over his ears, and a cloak hanging over his shoulders, whilst his Russian frock-coat was wrapped round his feet. The second had bound his pocket-handkerchief about his head, and thrown his soldier’s coat over him, and was sno- ring aloud. The third lay with his bare head in the straw, with an English frock across him; he raised himself, stared strangely about him, like one who has looked too deeply, the previous evening, into the dram-glass. Behind, in the corner, lay something, which it was impossible to say what it was, until it began to move, and 79 look forth from between clothes and cushions; Stilling then perceived that it was some sort of a female. Stilling contemplated this excellent ‘group awhile with pleasure; at length he be- gan, “Gentlemen, I wish you all a happy morn- ing, and a pleasant journey!” All three raised themselves, gaped, rubbed their eyes, and made other such motions as are usual on awaking; they looked, and saw a tall, smiling man, and a lively boy standing by him; they then all sprang. up, returned the compliment, each after his fash- ion, and thanked him in a friendly manner. The principal gentleman was a person of dig- nified and noble aspet ; he stepped up to Stilling, and said, ‘“‘ Whence come you, so early?’ Still- ing related briefly what had happened to him, - With a noble mien the gentleman rejoined, “You are certainly not in business; at least you do not seem to me to be so.” Stilling was sur- prised at this speech; he smiled, and said, “ You must understand physiognomy well; I am nota merchant, but am studying medicine.” ‘The Strange gentleman looked at him gravely, and said, “You are therefore studying in the midst of your days; you must previously have had great obstacles to surmount, or else you made your choice very late.” Stilling replied, ‘“‘ Both was the case with me. Iam a child of Provi- dence; without its particular guidance, I should either have been a tailor, or a charcoal-burner.”” Stilling spoke this with emphasis and emotion, as he always does when on this subject. The unknown gentleman continued, “ You will, per- haps, relate your history to us, on the way.” “Yes,” said Stilling, “most willingly.” The former now clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “ Be you who you may, you are a man after my own heart.” You that scourge my brother Lavater so se- verely, whence came it, that this noble stranger became fond of Stilling at first sight ~—and what is the language, and which are the letters that he knew how to read and study so ably ? The student by this time had recovered his senses ; he had become sober, and greeted Still- ing, as did also the soldier. Stilling asked whether the gentlemen would take breakfast? “Yes,” said they all, ‘‘we will drink coffee.” “So will I,” rejoined Stilling; and he hastened out of the room, and ordered it. On returning, he said, ‘‘Can I have the honor of your agreea- ble society to Cologne, with my companion ?” They all immediately said, “ Yes, it will cause us much pleasure.” Stilling made an obei- sance. They then all dressed themselves ; and the lady behind, very shamefacedly, also put on one garment after another. She was house- keeper to a clergyman at Cologne, and conse- quently very careful in the company of strange men; which, however, was quite unnecessary for she was too ugly to be an object of their at- tentions. Coffee was now brought in; Stilling placed himself at the table, drew the coffee-pot towards him, and began to pour out the beverage; he was cheerful], and inwardly pleased; but where- fore, [knownot. The strange gentleman placed himself near him, and clapped him again on the shoulder; the soldier sat down on the other side, and clapped him upon the other shoulder; whilst the two young people seated themselves on the opposite side of the table, and the lady sat be- hind, and drank her coffee alone. After breakfast, they went on board the barge, and Stilling observed that no one knew the 80 strange gentleman. The latter urged Stilling to relate the history of his life. As soon as they had passed the Bingen lock, he began it, and re- lated every thing, without concealing the small- est circumstance; he even stated with sincerity the particulars of his betrothment, and the reason of his present journey. The unknown gentle- man occasionally dropped a tear, as did also the soldier, and both wished heartily to hear where and in what state he had met with his Christi- na. Both were now intimate with him; and the soldier then began to relate as follows: ‘‘I was born of mean parentage in the duchy of Zwei- briicken, but was kept diligently at my learning, in order, by knowledge, to make up for what * was wanting in property. After I left school, a person in office employed me as a writer. I was with him some years; his daughter was kind to me, and we became such good friends, that we betrothed ourselves inviolably to each other, and bound ourselves never to marry, if any obstacles were laid in our way. My employer soon dis- covered it, and I was sent away; however, I still found half-an-hour to converse with my sweetheart alone, on which occasion we bound ourselves to each other still more firmly. Ithen went to Holland, and enlisted for a soldier; I very often wrote to the young lady, but never re- ceived an answer, for every letter was intercept- ed. ‘This rendered me so desperate that I ofien sought death, but still I had always an abhor- rence of suicide. “Our regiment was soon after sent off to Amer- ica; the cannibals had commenced war against the Dutch; I was therefore obliged to go with it, We arrived at Surinam, and my company was stationed at a very remote fort. I was still grieved to death, and wished nothing so much as that a ball might at length strike me dead; al] that I was afraid of, was being taken prisoner; for who likes being devoured! I therefore con- tinually entreated our commander to give me a few men to make inroads upon the cannibals; this he did, and as we were always fortunate, he made me serjeant, “Once I commanded fifty men; we ranged through a wood, and went to a considerable dis- tance from the fort; all of us having our mus- kets cocked, under ourarms. Meantime, a shot was fired at me; the ball whistled by my ear. After a short pause, it occurred again. I looked about, and saw a savage reloading his gun. I called out to him to halt, and pointed my mus- ket at him. He was close to us; he stood still, and we took him. This savage understood Dutch. We forced him to betray their chief to us, and take us to his retreat, which was not far from where we were. Here we found a troop of savages reposing. I had the good fortune to take their chief prisoner myself. We drove as many of them before us as we could keep to- gether; many, however, escaped. “Tn consequence of this affair, the scuffle with these people was at an end. I was made lieu- tenant at sea, and returned with my regiment to Holland. I obtained a furlough, and travelled home, where I found the young lady as I had left her. Being furnished with both money and honor, [ found no further opposition; we were married, and have now five children.” This tale delighted the company. The lieu- tenant, as well as Stilling, would now gladly have learned the unknown gentleman’s circum- stances, but he smiled, and said, “‘ Excuse me at present, gentlemen. I dare not.” HEINRICH STILLING. Thus the day passed away in the most agreea- ble conversation. ‘Towards evening, a storm came on, and they therefore landed at Leiders- dorff, not far from Neuwied, where they passed the night. The dissolute young man they had with them, was from Strasburg, and had run away from his parents. He soen made ac- quaintance with the youth who was passenger with them. Stilling warned the latter, very se- riously, in particular, not to shew the bill of ex- change; but it was of no avail. He afterwards heard that the boy had lost all his money, and the Strasburger had disappeared. In the evening, on retiring to rest, it was found that there were only three beds for five persons. ‘They cast lots which should sleep to- gether, when it fell out that the two youths were to be in one bed, the lieutenant in another, and the strange gentleman and Stilling were to have the best. Stilling now perceived the costly valua- bles of his bedfellow, which indicated something very dignified. He could not make this mode of travelling agree with such elevated rank, and began to suspect all was not right; however, as he observed that the stranger was truly devout, he was ashamed of his suspicions, and was sat- isfied. They fell asleep, after much confidential conversation; and the next morning, they again pursued their voyage, and arrived in the even- ing, safe and well, at Cologne. The stranger began to be busy there; persons of consequence went and came to him with all secrecy. He provided himself with a couple of servants, and purchased a quantity of jewellery and other things of the kind. They all lodged together, at the same inn; and although there were beds enough in the house, yet the stranger requested to sleep again with Stilling, to which he readily assented. In the morning, Stilling hastened to take his departure. He and the stranger embraced and kissed each other. The latter said to him, ‘“ Your company, Sir, has afforded me uncommon pleas- ure. Go on as you have begun, and you will rise high in the world. I shall never forget you.” Stilling once more expressed his desire to know with whom he had travelled. The stranger smiled, and said, ‘Read the newspapers atten- tively when you arrive at home, and when you find the name of * * * remember me.” Stilling now set out on foot; he bad still eight leagues to walk, before he reached Rasenheim. On the way, he reflected on the stranger’s name; it was known to him, and yet he knew not who he was. A week after, he read in the Lippstadt journal the following article: “Cologne, 19th May.—M. von * * *, ambas- sador of the court of * * * to * * +, passed through this place, in the strictest incognito, on his wa to Holland, in order to transact important busi- ness.” In the afternoon of Tuesday after Whitsuntide, Stilling arrived at Rasenheim; he was received with a thousand demonstrations of joy. But Christina was not mistress of herself; when Stilling went to her, she pushed him away, for she knew him not. He went for a little while into another room, and in the meantime she re- covered herself, and it was told her that Stilling was arrived. She could now no longer contain herself. He was called, and came to her. The most tender salutations which ean be conceived took place; but it cost Christina dear; she fell into the most violent convulsions, so that Still- ing, in the extremity of grief, awaited the mortal STILLINGS WANDERINGS. blow at her bed-side, for three days and three nights. Contrary to all expectation, she recov- ered again; and in a fortnight was so much bet- ter, that she sometimes rose for a little while du- ring the day. Stilling’s alliance with Christina was now generally known. Their best friends advised Friedenberg to let them be married. This was assented to; and after the customary formali- ties, the marriage ceremony was performed, on the 17th of June, 1771, at the bedside of his Christina. There dwelt in Schénenthal an excellent phy- sician, a man of great learning, and active per- severance in the study of nature; he was at the same time devoid of jealousy, and possessed the best heart in the world. This worthy man had heard part of Stilling’s history from his friend Troost. Stilling had visited him several times on this occasion, and requested his friendship and instruction. His name was Dinkler, and his practice was extensive. r. Dinkler, therefore, and Mr. Troost were present at Stilling’s marriage; and on this occa- sion, they both proposed to him to settle at Schén- enthal, particularly because a physician had just died there. Stilling again awaited the Di- vine direction, and therefore said he would think upon it. His two friends, however, gave them- selves much trouble in order to find out a house for him in Schénenthal; and they succeeded in doing so, even before Stilling took his departure again; the doctor also promised to visit his Christina during his absence, and to take care of ber health. Mr. Friedenberg now likewise found a source from whence he might procure money; and after every thing was arranged, Stilling prepared to depart again for Strasburg. The evening he- fore the melancholy day, he went up to his wife’s chamber. He found her lying on her knees, with folded hands. He stepped up to her, and looked at her; but she was stiff as a log of wood. He felt her pulse, which beat quite regularly. He lifted her up, spoke to her, and at length brought her to herself. The whole night was spent in continual mourning and conflict. The next morning Christina continued lying upon her face in the bed. She took her husband round the neck, and wept and sobbed incessant- ly. At length he tore himself forcibly from her. His two brothers-in-law accompanied him to Cologne. The next day, before he took his seat in the diligence, a messenger arrived from Ra- senheim, and brought the news that Christina ’ had become tranquil. This encouraged Stilling; he felt much re- lieved, and did not doubt but that he would again meet his dear and faithful Christina in good health. He commended her and himself into the paternal hands of God, took leave of his brothers-in-law, and set off. In seven days he again arrived at Strasburg, safe and well, without danger, and without meet- ing with any thing remarkable. His first visit was to Goethe. The noble young man started up on seeing him, fell upon his neck, and kissed him. “Art thou here again, my good friend!” exclaimed he; “and how is thy intended 2? Stilling answered, ‘‘She is my intended no long- er; she is now my wife.” “Thou hast done well,” replied the former; ‘“ thou art an excellent fellow.” They spent the remainder of the day entirely in cordial conversation, and in narrating what had occurred 81 The well-known and gentle Lenz had also ar- rived there. His pleasing writings have render- ed him celebrated. Gdéethe, Lenz, Lerse, and Stilling, now composed a kind of circle, in which every one felt happy who was able to feel what is good and beautiful. Stilling’s enthusiasm in the cause of religion did not prevent him from cordially loving such men as thought more freely than himself, it they were only not scoffers, He now prosecuted his medical studies with all diligence, and omitted nothing which belongs to that science. The following autumn, Géethe disputed publicly, and then set off home. He and Stilling entered into a mutual and indisso- luble bond of friendship. Lerse also took his departure for Versailles, but Lenz remained at Strasburg. The following winter, Stilling, with the per- mission of Professor Spielmann, read a lecture upon chemistry, completely finished his anatom- ical studies, went through some things a second time, and then wrote his Latin weatise for ex- amination without the assistance of any one. This he dedicated, by special permis ion, to His Serene Highness the Elector of the Palatinate, his gracious prince; he then passed his exam- ination, and prepared for his departure. Here much money was again requisite, and Stilling wrote home on the subject. Mr. Fried- enberg was Startled at it; at the dinner-table, he thought he would put his children to the test. They were all present, great and small. The father began: ‘‘ Children, your brother-in-law requires still so much money; what think you, would you send it to him if you hadit?” They all answered unanimously, ‘‘ Yes! even were we to take off our clothes and pledge them!” ‘This moved the parents, even to tears; and Stilling vowed them eternal love and fidelity, as soon as he heard of it. In one word, a remittance arri- ved at Strasburg, which was sufficient. Stilling now disputed with credit and ap- plause. Mr. Spielmann acted as dean on the occasion. On giving him the license, after the disputation was ended, he broke out into com- mendations of him, and said, “‘ That it was long since he had given the license to any one with greater pleasure than to the present candidate; for he had done more, in such a short ‘time, than many others in five or six years,” &c. Stilling was still upon the rostrum, and the tears stream- ed down his cheeks. His soul overflowed with thankfulness towards Him who had brought him out of the dust, and given him a vocation in which, in accordance with his own inclinations, he could live and die to the honor of God and the benefit of his neighbours. On the 24th of March, 1772, he took leave of all his friends at Strasburg, and set off home. At Manheim he had the honor of presenting his Latin Treatise to his Serene Highness the Elec- toral Prince, as well as to all his ministers. He became on this occasion, correspondent of the Palatinate Society of Sciences, and then travel- led to Cologne, where Mr. Friedenberg met him with every expression of joy; his brothers-in- law also met him on the way, on horseback. On the 5th of April he arrived, in the company of the friends above-mentioned, at Rasenheim. His Christina was up-stairs in her room. She lay with her face upon the table, and wept aloud. Stilling pressed her to his breast, embraced, and kissed her. He asked her why she wept. “Oh,” answered she, “I am weeping because I have not power sufficient to thank God for all his 82 HEINRICH goodness.” ‘Thou art in the right, my angel!” rejoined Stilling; “but our whole life, in time and in eternity, shall be made up of thanksgiv- ing. However, rejoice now, that the Lord has helped us hitherto.” On the ist of May, he removed, with his spouse, into the house taken for him at Schénen- thal, and began to exercise his vocation. Doc- tor Dinkler and Mr. Troost were the faithful com- panions of his life and labours there. On the first medical promotion at Strasburg, | he received, through a notary, his doctor’s di- | ploma, and this was the conclusion of his aca- | demical course. His family, in the province of , Salen, heard all this with rapturous joy; and Wilhelm Stilling wrote, in his first letter to hin at Schonenthal, “It is enough that my son Jo- HEINRICH STILLING’S DOMESTIC CHAPTER VII. On the Ist of May, 1772, in the afternoon, Stilling proceeded with his Christina on foot to Schonenthal, and Mr. Friedenberg accompanied them. All nature was still, the sky was serene, the sun shone over hill and dale, and its warm and genial rays unfolded herbs, and leaves, and flowers. Stilling contemplated his present cir- cumstances and prospects with delight, and felt assured that his sphere of operation would be- come wide and comprehensive. Christina in- dulged the same hope; whilst Mr. Friedenberg sometimes walked on alone, or lingered behind, smoking his pipe ; and when any thing relating to domestic economy occurred to him, he ex- pressed it briefly and emphatically, believing that such practical maxims would be useful to them, as they were now about to keep house. On arriving at the eminence from which they could survey the whole of Schénenthal, an in- describable sensation thrilled through Stilling which he could not account for; inwardly sor- rowful and joyful by turns, he prayed in spirit, and descended the hill with his companions in silence. This town lies in a very pleasant valley, which runs in a straight line from east to west, and is intersected by a small river called the Wupper. In summer, the whole valley, for the space of two leagues, to the borders of the Mark, is seen covered with linen-yarn, as with snow, whilst the bustle of a busy and prosperous population is indescribable. This valley is filled with iso- lated houses; one garden and orchard borders on another, and the walk up the valley is en- chanting. Stilling dreamed of future happiness ; and thus dreaming, he entered the noisy town. In a few minutes, his father-in-law conducted him to the house which Dinkler and Troost had selected and hired for him ; it stood back a lit- tle from the high-road, near the Wupper, and had a small garden attached to it, with a beau- tiful prospect of the southern hills. The servant girl, who had preceded them a few days, had cleaned every thing thoroughly, and arranged their little stock of household furniture. After sufficiently surveying and giving his opinion upon every thing, Mr Friedenberg took his leave with many cordial wishes for their happiness, and walked back again to Rasen- STILLING. “ h liveth; I must go down and see tim before ie. Unto the tnrone of Majesty supreme, With grateful heart I now draw near ; And mingle with the seraph’s lofty theme My humble song of praise and prayer. Although but dust, and form’d of earthly clay— Although I feel both sin and death— Yet to a seraph’s height aspire I may, Since Christ for me resigned his breath. Words are not thanks—no, such like noble deeds As Christ’s own precedent approves, Mingled with sufferings’ and afflictions’ seeds, An incense, which th’ Almighty loves ; Be these my thanks; and may my stedfast will Each hour be dedicate to Thee ; And grant, I always may this wish fulfil, E’en till I reach eternity ! LIFE. heim. The young married couple then stood and looked at each other with tearful eyes. .Their whole stock of furniture was very limit- ed ; six wooden chairs, a table and bed for them- selves, and one for the servant, a couple of dish- es, six pewter plates, a few pans for cooking, &c., together with the most needful linen, and a very bare supply of clothes, was all that could be found in the house, though large ; this furni- ture was divided hither and thither, and yet the apartments seemed all indescribably empty. The third story was never thought of; it was void, and continued so. And then the cash! Their funds consisted altogether of five rix-dollars in ready money, and that was all! Really, really, it required great confiderce in the paternal providence of God in order to sleep quietly the first night ; and yet Stilling and his consort slept well, for they did not doubt for a moment that God would provide for them. His reason, however, occa- sionally tormented him much; but he gave no ear to it, and simply believed. The next day he paid his visits ; but Christina paid none, for her intention was to live as unknown and privately as propriety would permit. Stilling now found a great difference in the behaviour of his future fellow-citizens and neighbours. His pietistic friends, who had formerly received him as an angel of God, and embraced him with the warm- est salutations and blessings, stood at a dis- tance, merely bowed, and were cold ; but this was no wonder: for he now wore a wig with a bag to it; formerly it was only round, and pow- dered a little; besides, he wore ruffles to his shirt, at the neck and hands, and was therefore become a gentleman, and a man of the world. They attempted occasionally to speak with him on religion, in their usual way ; but he express- ed himself in a friendly and serious manner, to the effect that he had talked long enough about du- ties; he would now be silent and practise them ; and as he no longer attended any of their meetings, they regarded him as a backslider, and spoke of him on every occasion in an unkind and Jament- ing tone. How much is this mode of proceed- ing to be deprecated in such characters, other- wise so worthy and excellent! I willingly con- fess that some of the most upright people and the best of Christians are to be found amongst them; but they ruin every thing by their love STILLINGS DOMESTIC LIFE. of judging. He that is not precisely of one mind with them, nor trifles, and affects religious sensibility with them, is of no value in their eyes, and is regarded as unregenerate ; they do not reflect that the mere profession of religion is unavailing, and that the individual must let his light shine by his good works. In short, Stilling was not only entirely forsaken by his old friends, but even calumniated; nor did they scarcely ever employ him as a physician. The majority of the rich merchants received him merely with politeness, as a man who had no property, and whom it was necessary, at first sight, to impress with the idea, ‘ Never have the heart to ask money, help, or support from me; I will reward thy services as they deserve, and nothing more.’’ However, he likewise found some worthy men, and true philanthropists, whose looks bespoke a noble mind. Aljl this had a depressing effect upon Stilling ; hitherto he had dined at a table well provided by others, or else had been able to pay for it himself; the world aroand him had had little reference to him; and, with all his sufferings, his sphere of operation had been inconsiderable. But now, he saw himself all at once placed in a vast, splendid, low-bred, avaricious, mercan- tile world, with which he did not harmonize in the least, where the learned were only esteem- ed in proportion to their wealth—where sensi- bility, reading, and learning, were ludicrous— and where he alone was honored who made much money. Hence, he was like a very small light, at which no one would think of lingering, much less of warming himself. Stilling there- fore began to feel melancholy. Meanwhile, two days, and even three days, passed, before any one came who needed his assistance ; and the five rix-dollars melted away rapidly. But on the morning of the fourth day, a woman came from Dornfeld, a small town that lies about three-quarters of a league to the east of Schonenthal. On entering the door, she cried out, with tears in her eyes, ‘‘ Oh, doctor, we have heard that you are a very able man, and know a good deal ; a very, very great mis- fortune has happened at our house, and we have employed all the doctors far and near, but none of them can do any thing for him: I am there- fore come to you ;—Oh, help my poor child !” “Gracious heaven!” thought Stilling to him- self; ‘‘the first patient I get has put to shame all the experienced physicians ; what shall I, who am so inexperienced, be able to effect?” He asked, however, what was the matter with the child. The poor woman related, with many tears, the history of her sick child, of which the fol- lowing were the principal circumstances :— The boy was eleven years old, and had had the measles about a quarter of a year before; through the carelessness of his nurse, he had been exposed too soon to the cold air; the in- flammatory matter had retired into the brain, and produced very singular results. For the last six weeks, the patient had lain in bed with- out consciousness or feeling; he did not move a limb of his whole body, with the exception of his right arm, which, day and night, incessantly vibrated, like the pendulum of a clock; his life had been hitherto supported by the injection of thin soups, but no medicine had been able to 83 produce any effect. The woman concluded her copious account with expressing her suspicion whether the child might not possibly be be- witched. “No,” answered Stilling, “the child is not bewitched ; I will come and see him.” The woman wept again, and said, “ Oh, doctor, do come !”’ and with that she went away. Doctor Stilling paced his room with rapid strides. ‘‘Who can do any thing in such a case?” thought he. ‘There is no doubt that all possible means have been used (for the peo- ple were wealthy); what remains, therefore, for a beginner like myself!” With these mel- ancholy thoughts, he took up his hat and stick, and set out for Dornfeld; praying to God, the whole way, for light, and blessing, and power- He found the child exactly as its mother had described ; its eyes were closed, it fetched breath regularly, and the right arm moved, as though it beat time, from the breast towards the right side. He sat down, looked and consider- ed, inquiring into all the circumstances ; and on going away, ordered the woman to come to Schonenthal to him in an hour, telling her he would reflect upon this strange case during the time, and prescribe something. On his way home, he thought of what he could order that might be useful; at length it occurred to him, that Mr. Spielmann had commended “ Dippel’s animal oil’ as a remedy for convulsions ; he was the more glad of this medicament, for he felt assured that none of the physicians had used it, because it was no longer in fashion. He therefore decided upon it; and as soon as he came home, he prescribed a mixture, of which this oil was the basis ; the woman came and fetched it. Scarcely had two hours elapsed, when a messenger arrived, who requested Still- ing to return immediately to his patient; he hastened to him, and on entering the house, he saw the boy sitting up in the bed, happy ané well; and was told that scarcely had the child swallowed a teaspoonful of the mixture, before he opened his eyes, awoke, and asked for some- thing to eat, and the arm had become still an& just like the other. It is impossible to. describe: how the good doctor felt on this occasion ;. the house was full of people, desirous of seeing the miracle ; every one regarded him with delight as an angel of God. Every one blessed him ; but the child’s parents wept tears of joy, and knew-not what they should do for the able phy- sician. Stilling thanked God inwardly in his heart, and his eyes were filled with tears of de- light; however, he was heartily ashamed of the- praise bestowed upon him, which he had so lit~ tle merited ; for the whole cure was neither ie result of plan nor reflection, but mere accident, or rather Divine and paternal providence. When reflecting on the whole affair, he could scarcely refrain from laughing aloud at hearing: therm speak of his stupendous ability, being con- scious how little he had done in the matter ; however, prudence required him to be silent, and to take every thing for granted, although without ascribing vain glory to himself; he therefore prescribed purgatives and tonic med- icines, and healed the child completely. Here I cannot restrain the impulse of my heart from communicating to young physicians a Warning and an admonition, which is the re- 84 HEINRICH sult of much experience, and which may be like- wise useful to the public, who are obliged to confide themselves to such inexperienced per- sons. When the young man goes to the uni- versity, his first idea is, to finish as soon as pos- sible ; for studying costs money, and he would gladly soon be able to support himself. The most needful auxiliary sciences, such as the knowledge of the Greek and Latin languages, Mathematics, Physics, Chemistry, and Natural Philosophy, are neglected, or, at least, not suf- ficiently studied; while, on the contrary, the time is spent in a variety of subtle and sophisti- cal anatomical disquisitions ; the individual then attends the other lectures mechanically, and im- mediately hastens to the sick-bed. There, how- ever, every thing is found to be very different ; the man knows little or nothing of the secret course of nature, and yet ought to know every thing ; the young doctor is ashamed to confess his ignorance; he therefore talks a great deal of high-sounding nonsense, which makes the ears of the experienced practitioner to tingle; then sits down, and prescribes something, ac- cording to his fancy. Now, if he is still in any degtee conscientious, he makes choice of rem- edies which, at least, cannot injure; but how often is the most important crisis by this means neglected, in which a beneficial effect might have been produced! and besides all this, the individual often thinks he has prescribed some- thing of a harmless nature, not considering that injury may nevertheless be done by it, because he is ignorant of the real character of the disease. It is therefore imperative upon young stu- dents, after attaining a perfect knowledge of the auxiliary sciences, to study Surgery to the very bottom; for the latter contains the most certain principles of knowledge, from whence, by analogy, internal diseases may be ascertain- ed. They ought then to study nature at a sick- bed, with the professor of practical medicine, who should, however, himself be a good physi- cian; and then, at length, enter upon this high- ly important office ; but mark! only under the superintendence of an able practitioner! Alas! where is there a greater deficiency, than in the arragements of the medical establishment, and in the regulations appertaining to it? This first cure made a great noise ; the blind, the lame, the crippled, and incurables of every kind, now came for his assistance ; but Dippel’s Oil did not avail for all, and Stilling had not yet found any such specific for all diseases. he concourse of people to him therefore diminish- ed; but he came into a regular practice, which procured him a bare subsistence. Meanwhile, his competitors began to attack him; for they looked upon the cure as a piece of quackery, and made the public suppose that he was, and would be, a mere charlatan. This unfounded report reached the medical board at Risselstein, and caused the members of it to entertain prejudi- cial ideas of him; he was required to appear before them for examination, and was rather severely handled ; however, he stood firm, not- withstanding all the attempts at chicanery, so that no one could establish any thing against him; he obtained therefore the diploma of a privileged physician. In the beginning of that summer, Stilling made it known that he would read a lecture on STILLING. Physiology to young surgeons. Messieurs Dink- ler and Troost attended the lecture diligently, and from that time he has read lectures almost without interruption. When he spoke in pub- lic, he was in his element ; in speaking, his ideas developed themselves so dast that he oft- en could not find words enough to express them all; his whole existence felt reanimated, and became life and delineation. Ido not say this for the sake of boasting; God knows, it was He who gave him the talent; Stilling had done nothing towards it. His friends often foreboded he would become a public lecturer; at which predictions he sighed within himself, and wish- ed it might b&so ; but saw no way before him how to ascend that step. Searcely had Stilling spent a few weeks in such occupations, when all at once the heavy hand of the Almighty again drew forth the rod, and wounded him severely. Christina began to grow melancholy and ill; by degrees her dreadful fits returned in all their violence; she became subject to tedious and painful convul- sions, which often lasted for hours together, and contracted her poor weak body in such a manner, that it was pitifulto behold. The con- vulsions often threw her out of bed; during which she shrieked so dreadfully that she might have been heard to the distance of several houses in the neighbourhood. ‘This lasted for some weeks, when her state became evidently more dangerous. Stilling looked upon her as perfectly hectic, for she had really all the symp- toms of a consumption ; he now began to de- spair, and to wrestle with God; all his powers succumbed, and this new species of sorrow— that of losing a wife whom he so tenderly loved —inflicted deep wounds on his heart. To this were joined daily new cares respecting his maintenance in a place of trade, like Schonen- thal; he had no credit; besides which, every thing was very dear, and the manner of living expensive. Every morning, on awaking, the question recurred to him with redoubled force, “How shall I find subsistence this day?” for the case was very rare that he had money enough for two days. His experience and his trials of faith, indeed, stood before his eyes; but then he daily saw stil) more pious people, who struggled with the bicterest want, and had scarcely bread enough to satisfy their hunger ; therefore, what else could console him, but an unconditional surrender of himself to the mercy of his heavenly Father, who would not suffer him to be tempted beyond his ability ? To this was added another circumstance; he had adopted the maxim, that every Christian, and particularly a physician, ought to be benev- olen’ without reflection, merely in confidence upon God ; in consequence of this, he committed the great mistake of frequently having medicine made up at the apothecary’s on his own account, for those he visited, who were unable to pay ; by which he plunged himself into debt, which sub- sequently caused him much sorrow ; nor was he careful, on such occasions, to reserve the mon- ey he had been receiving. I cannot say that in such instances an inward benevolent impulse alone guided his actions. No; there was alsoa certain thoughtlessness and disregard for money connected with it, of which weakness of char- acter Stilling at that time was ignorant, but at STILLINGS DOMESTIC LIFE. length became sufficiently acquainted with it, through many grievous trials. It is no wonder that in this manner his practice became very extensive ; he had more than enough to do, but his labors brought him in very little. Christina also felt grieved at it, for she was very careful ; and he said nothing to her when he gave away any thing, lest she should reproach him ; for he felt assured that God would bless him for it in some other way. In other respects, they were both very moderate in food and raiment ; and contented themselves with that which the ex- treme of propriety required. Christina grew worse, and Stilling thought he should certainly lose her. One forenoon, as he sat by her bed and waited upon her, her breath all at once began to cease—she stretched out her arms towards her husband, gave him a piercing look, and breathed out the words, “ Farewell—angel—Lord, have mercy upon me —I am dying!” With that her eyes became fixed, all the appearance of death showed itself in her face, her respiration ceased, she was con- vulsed, and Stilling stood like a poor criminal before his executioner. At length he threw himself upon her, kissed her, and spoke conso- ling words into her ear; but she was insensi- ble. The moment, however, that Stilling was about to call for help, she came again to her- self; she was much better, and evidently re- lieved. Stilling had not yet by any means suf- ficient medical experience to know all the parts which this dreadful hysteric evil is wont to act in such a weakly and irritable frame ; hence it was, that he wasso often alarmed and terrified. Christina did not die under this attack, but she remained dangerously ill, and the dreadful par- oxysms continued ; hence his life was a con- stant torture, and every day had new torments in readiness for himself and his consort. Just in this severe time of trial, there came a messenger, from a place which was five leagues distant from Schoénenthal, to conduct him to a rich and respectable individual, who was con- fined by a lingering illness. Painful as it was to him to leave his own wife in such a melan- choly condition, yet he felt as deeply the du- ties of his office ; and as the state of the pa- tient above-mentioned was not dangerous, he sent the messenger away again, promising to come the next day. He therefore arranged his affairs so as to be able to be absent for a day. At seven o’clock in the evening, he sent out the servant-girl to fetch a bottle of Malaga wine, which was intended for Christina’s refreshment; if she took only a few drops of it, she felt her- self invigorated. Christina’s younger sister, a girl of thirteen years of age, was at that time residing with them on a visit to her sister, and she went out with the servant to fetch the wine. Stilling seriously enjoined the latter to return immediately, because there were still several things to do, and he had to prepare for his journey on the morrow ; however, she did not do so; the fine summer evening seduced the thoughtless girl to take a walk; and it was nine o’clock before she came home. Stilling had consequently his wife’s bed to make, and other things to do himself. Both were there- fore justly irritated. As the girl entered the door, Stilling began, in a gentle but serious tone, to admonish her, and remind her of her duty ; | 85 the girl was silent, and went down-stairs with Miss Friedenberg into the kitchen. After a lit- tle while, they both heard a hollow, terrible, and dreadful sound, and at the same time, the sis- ter calling out for help. The gloom of the twi- light, together with this appalling noise, produ- ced such an effect, that Stilling himself grew cold through his whole frame, while his sick wife shrieked out with terror. Meanwhile, Stilling ran down stairs, in order to see what was the matter. He found the servant-girl standing by the sink, with dishevelled hair, and, like a lunatic, emitting this horrible sound, whilst foaming at the mouth, and looking like a fury. Stilling now felt exasperated ; he seized the girl by the arm, turned her about, and said to her, energetically, ““ What now! what are you doing? what Satan impels you to trouble me thus, in my distressing circumstances? have you no human feeling?” But this was pouring oil into the fire ; she shrieked convulsively, tore herself from him, and fell into the most dread- ful epileptic fit. At the same moment, he heard Christina likewise screaming dreadfully; he ran up-stairs, and found, in the twilight, his wife in the most appalling condition ; she had thrown off all the bed-clothes and bedding, and was writhing convulsively in the straw beneath ; all recollection was fled, she gnashed her teeth, and the convulsions drew her head backwards to her heels. The waves of affliction now rolled over his head; he ran out to his next neigh- bours and old friends, and called aloud for help most piteously. Persons of both sexes came, and exerted themselves to bring the two suffer- ers again to themselves; they succeeded first with the servant-girl; she came to herself again, and was taken to bed ; but Christina re- mained for a couple of hours in the same mel- ancholy condition. She then became quiet ; her bed was made, and she was put into it, where she lay like one asleep, entirely without consciousness, and unable to move. The day now dawned; two females from the neigh- bourhood, together with the sister, continued with Christina; and Stilling rode, with the heaviest heart in the world, to visit his patient. On returning in the evening, he found his wife in the same state of stupefaction, and she only came to herself again the next morning. He now sent away the malicious servant, and hired another. The storm passed over for this time ; and Christina got well again. The fol- lowing autumn, she was again troubled with an ulcerated breast, which was the cause of many painful occurrences ; though, with this excep- tion, she was very well and cheerful. ——_fr—--. CHAPTER VIII. StTILu1ne@’s domestic life had commenced pain- fully and sorrowfully in every respect. There was nothing pleasing in his whole situation, ex- cept the tenderness with which Christina treat- ed him ; both loved each other cordially, and their intercourse was a pattern to married peo- ple. However, the excessive affection of his wife sometimes occasioned him very bitter mo- ments, for it frequently degenerated into jeal- 86 ousy; but this weakness entirely vanished in the course of a year or two. In other respects, Stilling’s whole state resembled that of a wan- derer travelling by night through a wood full of ‘robbers and ravenous beasts, who hears them, from time to time, rustling and roaring around him. He was continually tormented by care respecting his daily support; he had little suc- cess in his vocation, little love in the circle in which he moved, and consequently little com- fortable society. No one encouraged him; for those who could have done it, did not know him, nor he them; and those that observed and were acquainted with him and his circumstan- ces, either despised him, or were indifferent to him. If he occasionally went to Rasenheim, he did not dare say any thing of his condition, lest he should cause anxiety, for Mr. Frieden- berg had become security for the amount his studies had cost ; he was compelled to hide his sorrow from his Christina, for her tender mind would have been unable to have borne it with him; he was even obliged to encourage her, and hold out to her the most pleasing hopes. It was, on the whole, a singular affair with reference to Stilling’s vocation and attending the sick. As long as he labored, unobserved, amongst the poor and the lower class, her per- formed excellent cures, and was successful in almost every case ; but no sooner had he to attend one of the higher class, to whom many eyes were directed, than all was in vain; his sphere of action, therefore, continued limited to people who could pay him but little. This cir- cumstance, although it seemed strange, is ea- sily understood: his whole soul was system ; in his ideas it was requisite that every thing should be according to rule; hence he had no disposition for the refined and allowed charla- tanry, which is so needful to the practical phy- sician who wishes to gain something for himself ; therefore, when he visited a patient, he inquired into his case, then formed a plan, and acted according to it. If it did not succeed, he was vanquished ; his labors then became disagree- able to him, and yet he was unable to help him- self. With common and robust constitutions, in which nature works more regularly and sim- ply, his method was most successful ; but where luxury, delicate nerves, perverted sensibility, and imagination, were in full play, and where his attention to the patient had to consist of a hundred different kinds of seemingly important employments, Stilling did not feel at home. All this gradually inspired him with a pro- found repugnance to the medical profession ; and only the idea that God had designed him to be a physician, and would therefore gradually render him successful in his vocation, supported his soul, and kept him in unwearied activity. For this reason he formed, the very first sum- mer, the gigantic resolution to study and inves- tigate, until he had attained to mathematical cer- tainty in his vocation. In this tedious underta- king, he hit upon several important tracks, and discovered many new philosophical truths ; but the further he sought, the more he found that his misfortunes would increase, the more ground and foundation he discovered in his profession ; for he perceived very clearly that the physician can do very little, and consequently can earn very little. This weakened. his hopes, and his HEINRICH STILLING. prospects became dark, just like a wanderer on an unknown and dangerous path, who is over- taken by a thick fog, so that he cannot see ten steps before him. He therefore cast himself unreservedly into the paternal arms of God, hoped, where nothing was to be hoped for, and proceeded in a very melancholy manner on his pilgrimage Dare I tell you, friends and readers, that Still- ing, notwithstanding all this, was a happy man ! What is the object of human life, but a perfect- ing of existence, in order to be able to spread happiness around us? Similarity to God and to Christ is the brilliant aim which beams upon a mortal, like the morning radiance, from his youth up; but where is the boy, the youth, or the man, in whom religion and reason have so much the ascendency over sensuality, as to pre- vent him from wasting his life in gratifying himself, and from forgetting his exalted destiny ¢ It is therefore an invaluable blessing, when an individual is instructed, from his youth up, to place an entire reliance upon God; and is ther placed by Providence in a situation where he is compelled to exercise that confidence. His soul, by this means, becomes pliant, humble, resign- ed, patient, and unceasingly operative ; it strug- gles through doing and suffering, and overcomes every thing ; no adversary can essentially in- jure it, for it strives against them with the weapons of love, which no one effectually re- sists: nay, even Deity itself may be overcome by love! This was Stilling’s case. The wise man must therefore esteem him happy, although scarcely any one would wish himself in his place. Towards the autumn of the year 1772, the two excellent brothers Vollikraft, of Risselstein, came to Schonenthal. The eldest was court- chamberlain, and a noble, upright, excellent man; he had a commission to execute at the latter place, which detained him some weeks. His brother, a sentimental, tender, and well- known poet, and at the same time, a man of the best, noblest, and most upright sentiments, ae- companied him, in order to be with him in a place which was so entirely destitute of food for his soul. Doctor Dinkler was very well ac- quainted with these two worthy characters. At the first visit, he described Stilling to them so advantageously that they were desirous of be- coming acquainted with him. Dinkler gave him a hint, and he hastened to visit them. He went to them for the first time one evening; when the chamberlain entered into conversation with him, and was so taken with him, that he saluted and embraced him, and favored him with his en- tire love and friendship; the same was the case also with the other brother. Both understood him, and he them; their hearts overflowed into each other, and a conversation arose, such as is not understood by every one. Stilling’s eyes were continually filled with tears on this occasion. His deep sorrow sought alleviation; but he never mentioned any thing of his situation, for he knew how humbling it is to confess one’s need even to friends. He there- fore bore his burden alone; which, however, was much lightened from having met with those who understood him, and were confidential and open to him. Besides this, Stilling was of low birth ; he had been accustomed, from his youth STILLING’S DOMESTIC LIFE up, to regard persons of rank, and even rich and reputable people, as beings of a superior kind; hence he was always timid and reserved in their presence. This was often construed into stupidity, ignorance, and adherence to his low descent: in a word, he was despised by persons of the common sort, who were destitute of refined feelings : but the brothers Vollkraft were of a very different stamp; they treated him confidentially ; he revived in their society, and was able to shew himself in his true col- ours. Friedrich Vollkraft, for so was the chamber- lain called, asked him, at his first visit, if he had written any thing. Stilling answered that he had ; for he had sent his history, in lectures, by piecemeal, to the Society of Belles Lettres at Strasburg, which existed at that time, and had received the copy of it back again. The two brothers much wished to read it ; he brought it, therefore, at the next visit, and read it to them. The style, as well as the declamation, was so unexpected, that they exclaimed aloud, “That is beautiful—incomparable!” They therefore encouraged him to write more, and induced him to furnish something for the ‘“ Ger- man Mercury,” which was then commencing. He did so, and wrote ‘“ Aseneitha, an Oriental Tale,” which appeared in the first part of the third and the first part of the fourth volume of that periodical work, and gave general satisfac- tion. Through this acquaintanceship, Vollkraft be- came a support to Stilling, which much relieved him on a very painful occasion. He had now a lodging and a friend when he travelled to Ris- selstein, who imparted to him, by his corre- spondence, many a refreshing ray of light. This connection, however, made him still more hated by his fellow-townsmen, and particularly by the Pietists : for in Schénenthal, a rigid adherence to systems of religion universally prevails, and he that varies from them in the smallest degree, as was the case with the brothers Vollkraft,was regarded as Anathema and Maranatha; so that if a person writes any thing, if it be a poem that is not spiritual, or a romance however moral, he is in their eyes already tainted with irreli- gion, and becomes odious. It is true that all the inhabitants of Schénenthal do not think alike, of which proofs will be given in the se- quel; these are, however, the sentiments of the Majority, and it is this which gives the ton. Doctor Stilling continued to live thus circum- stanced, amidst a variety of changes. At the close of the year 1772, he made a calculation of his expenses; he balanced receipts and pay- ments—or rather, income and expenditure— and found, to his great sorrow, that he was two hundred dollars deeper in debt; the reason of which was as follows. It is the custom in Schonenthal, to carry every thing that is earn- ed to account ; therefore, as no money came in, none could go out ; consequently, what is want- ed is fetched from the tradespeople, and placed to account. At the end of the year, the bills are made out and sent, and thus accounts are received and paid. Now, although Stilling had earned as much as he had spent, yet his de- mands were scattered about in such trifling sums that he could not possibly collect them all; he was therefore at a stand; and thus, the 87 shopkeepers not being paid, his credit sank still more ; his grief, on this account, was inexpres- sible. He met his daily ready-money expenses by what he received from patients in the coun- try; but this resource was so limited, that he had barely sufficient for mere necessaries, and was frequently put to the severest tests; in which, however, Providence never forsook him, but came to his aid, as formerly, in a visible and wonderful manner. The following is an instance amongst many. In Schonenthal, coals alone are used, both in the kitchen and the parlour stoves; all these coals are brought from the neighbouring prov- ince of Mark. Stilling had also his coalman, who from time to time brought him a horse- load, which, however, he was obliged to pay for on the spot ; for the carrier required the money to buy more, and he had been hitherto always provided with the needful. On one occasion, this coalman drove up to the door, in the after- noon; the coals were wanted, and the man could not be sent away. Stilling had not half- a-guilder in the house, and he did not feel him- self at all at liberty to go and borrow of his neighbour. Christina wept, while he prayed ardently to God. All that was required was a couple of Convention dollars ; but to him that does not possess them, the payment of two dol- lars is as difficult as to one who has to pay a thousand, and does not possess a hundred. Meanwhile, the carrier unloaded his coals; and when that was done, he washed his hands, in order to receive the money; Stilling’s heart beat, and he wrestled with God. All at once, a man came to the door with his wife ; the good people were from Dornfeld ; Stilling had healed the man of a painful disease some weeks be- fore, and had charged him, in his account, for the end of the year. After the customary salu- tations, the man began: “I have just been re- ceiving money ; and as I was passing your door, it occurred to me, that I had no need to let my account stand over till next year; I therefore wish to settle it now. You, perhaps, may be able to make use of the money.” ‘ Very well,’’ replied Stilling; so saying, he went and fetched the book, made out the account, and received ten rix-dollars. Stilling frequently met with examples of this kind, by which he was much strengthened in his faith, and encouraged to persevere. On the 5th of January, 1773, Christina bore - him a daughter ; and although every thing pass- ed over in the ordinary course of nature, yet there was again a dreadful period of six hours’ continuance, in which the fury, Hysteric, used her claws in a terrible manner; the poor wom- an writhed about like a worm; and such times were always a penetrating and purifying fire for Stilling. The following spring, after riding, one Satur- day, toa neighbouring village, which lies at the distance of a league and-a-half from Schénen- thal, in order to visit the sick, and spending the whole day in going from house to house, and from cottage to cottage, there came in the even- ing, a poor, young, well-made female, across the street, who was blind, and was obliged to be led by the hand. Stilling was still eminent for curing diseases of the eye; he stood at the door. of the inn, near his horse, and was just 88 about to mount, when the poor woman called out, ‘‘ Where is the Doctor?” Stilling.—‘‘ Here! What do you want, good woman ?” Woman.—‘ Oh, sir, look at my eyes! I have been blind some years; I have two children, whom I have never seen, and my husband is a day-labourer; I helped formerly, by spinning, to maintain our family, but I cannot do so now; and though my husband is very industrious, yet he cannot support us alone, and therefore we are badly off. Oh look, sir, and see whether you can do any thing for me!” Stilling looked at her eyes, and said, “It is a cataract ; you might, perhaps, be healed of it, if you met with an able man who could perform the operation.” Woman.—‘ Do not you understand it, Doc- tor ?” Stlling.—“ Yes, I understand it, it is true; but I have never yet tried it on any living be- ing.” Woman.—‘ Oh, then, try it upon me !” Stilling.—‘ No, good woman! that I will not; T am too much afraid of it; it might not suc- ceed, and then you would always continue blind; it would be afterwards impossible to cure you.” Woman.—“ But now, if I will run the risk? You see I am blind, and shall not be blinder than I am now; perhaps the Lord will give his blessing with it, and make it successful: per- form the operation upon me!” At these words, Stilling was seized with a fit of trembling; operations were not his business; he therefore threw himself on horseback, and said, “‘ Let me alone!—I cannot—I cannot— perform the operation.’ Woman. —‘‘ Doctor, you must; it is your duty ; God has called you to help the poor and the needy, whenever you can; now you can operate for the cataract ; I will be the first to take my chance, and IJ will accuse you at the day of judgment, if you do not help me!” These words were daggers in Stilling’s heart; he felt that the woman was in the right, and yet he had an invincible dread and dislike to all operations on the human body ; for he was, on the one hand, too tender and too susceptible, and, on the other, too conscientious, also, to risk the happiness of any one in such a man- ner. He therefore made no further reply, but rode off ; he struggled with himself on the way, but the result was the same—a resolution not to perform the operation. However, the poor woman did not Jet the matter rest there ; she went to her minister—why should I not name him’?—the worthy man, who was one of a thou- sand—the late Theodore Miiller. He was the father, the counsellor of all the members of his church ; the prudent, gentle, unweariedly active servant of God, without being a pietist ; in short, he was a disciple of Jesus in the full sense of the word. His Master soon called him away, assuredly to make him ruler over much. La- vater sang bis death, the poor wept over him, and the sick lamented him. Blessed be thy re- mains, thou seed for the day of retribution ! The poor blind woman came to this worthy man to tell her sorrows, and, at the same time, accused Doctor Stilling. Muller therefore wrote him a pressing letter, in which he represented HEINRICH STILLING. to him all the happy results which this opera- tion would occasion, in the event of its succeed- ing ; and, on the other hand, the inconsiderable consequences in the event of its being unsuc- cessful. Stilling ran, in the distress of his: heart, to his friends Dinkler and Troost. Botk advised him seriously to undertake the opera- tion; and the former even promised to accom- pany him and assist him. This encouraged him in some measure, and he resolved upon it with fear and trembling. There was another circumstance to be added to all this. Stilling had been particularly in- structed at Strasburg, by Professor Lobstein, im the extraction of the cataract, and had also pro- cured from Bogner the instruments for it ; for it was his intention, at that time, to unite this excellent and beneficial method of healing to his other ophthalmic remedies. But, on becom- ing a practical physician himself, and being grieved to see all the misery that resulted from unsuccessful medical attendance, he grew ex- tremely timid, and did not dare to venture om such operations; he consequently lost all de- sire to operate for the cataract; and this was one of the principal reasons why he could not perform as much —or, at least, did not appear to accomplish as much —as others of his col- leagues, who undertook every thing, labored on, and though they often made miserable falls, gathered themselves up again, and notwith- standing all, got forward better than he. Stilling wrote, therefore, to Miller, that he would come on a certain day, with Doctor Dinkler, to perform the operation on the poor woman. Accordingly, both set off, on the day appointed, and walked to the village; Dinkler gave Stilling every possible encouragement, but it was of little avail. At length they arrived at the village, and went to Miiller’s house; the latter comforted him, and the woman was then sent for, together with the surgeon, who had to hold her head. When every thing was ready, and the woman had taken her seat, Stilling” placed himself before her, took the instrument, and introduced it into the eye at the proper place. But as the patient, as is natural, moved a little on taking breath, Stilling drew the in- strument out again; consequently the watery humour flowed out of the wound, down the cheek, and the anterior eye closed. Stilling, therefore, took the curved scissors, and pene- trated into the wound with the one blade, and’ then regularly cut the semi-circle below, as cus- tomary ; but on looking closely, he found that he had also cut the coat of the iris; he was alarmed ;—but what was to be done? He was silent, and sighed. That moment the lens fell through the wound, down upon the cheek, and the woman exclaimed, in the greatest transport of joy, ‘“O Doctor, I can see your face! I see the black in your eyes !”’ All present rejoiced. Stilling then bound up the eye, and healed it successfully ; she saw extremely well with one eye. Some weeks after, he performed the op- eration upon the other eye, with the left hand ; all was done regularly, for he had now more courage: this was also healed, and the wom- an was perfectly restored to sight. This was noised abroad, so that several blind people came, on whom he successfully performed the- operation; it was seldom that he did not suc- STILLINGS DOMESTIC LIFE. ceed. Nevertheless, it was singular, that these important cures rarely yielded him any emolu- ment. Most of the individuals being poor, he performed the operation on them gratuitously ; and it was seldom that any one came who was able to pay any thing ; his circumstances were consequently little improved by his success. Many even took occasion from it to class him with operators and quack-doctors. ‘Only pay at- tention,” said they; “he will soon begin to travel from place to place, and enter into some order.”’ In September of the following autumn, the lady of one of the principal and most wealthy merchants, or, rather, men of property, who was, at the same time, a very worthy man, was con- fined for the first time. The case was a very painful and protracted one, and Dinkler, as phy- sician to the family, proposed to call in the as- sistance of Stilling, who was therefore sent for. After having sufficiently convinced himself that the child was dead, to assist the mother, he opened its head, and pressed it together. Every thing afterwards went on well, and the lady soon became convalescent. But the heartfelt anxiety, tears, struggles, and sympathy which such employments occasioned our susceptible Stiling, cannot be described. However, he felt it his duty, and was obliged to go whenever he was sent for. He started, therefore, so that his heart beat, on hearing a knock at his door during the night; and this has interwoven it- self so firmly into his nerves that, to the present tTmomert, he shudders whenever any one knocks at his door in the night-time, although he is well aware that he is no longer sent for to act on such occasions. This affair gained him, for the first time, the esteem of all the inhabitants of Schonenthal ; he now saw a number of friendly faces. But this pleasant state of things did not last long ; for about three weeks afterwards, there came an order from the medical board at Risselstein, enjoining him to abstain, for the time being, from acting as accoucheur, and to appear before the board to be examined regarding that depart- ment. Stilling stood as if thunder-struck; he did not comprehend a word of it, until, at length, he learned that some one had sent a very unfa- vorable account of his professional aid in the above-mentioned case. He the?etore set out for Riusselstein, where he took up his abode with his friend Vollkraft, his worthy lady, who is equalled only by few, and his excellent sisters; and he needed. this recreation in his painful circumstances. He then waited upon one of the members of the medical board, who received him very scornful- ly, with the words, ‘‘I hear you put out people’s eyes.”” ‘“ No,” answered Stilling ; ‘ but I have cured several of the cataract.” “That is not true,” said the man, insolently ; “you say false.” “No!” rejoined Stilling, with fire in his eyes, and burning cheeks, “I do not speak falsely ; I can bring witnesses to prove it incontestably ; and were I not aware of the respect I owe you, sir, as one of my superiors, I would answer you in the same tone. A grad- uated person, who seeks every where to do his duty, deserves the esteem, even of his superi- ors.” The member of the medical board laughed jn his face, and said, ‘Is 1t doing your duty to destroy children 2?” M 89 Dimness now obscured Stilling’s sight; he turned pale, stepped nearer, and rejoined, ‘ Sir, do not say that again!” He felt, however, at the same time, all the horrors of his situation, and his dependence upon this horrible man. He therefore sank back into a chair, and wept like a child ; but this produced no effect, except to excite more scorn ; he therefore rose up, and went away. In order that his grief might not be too much perceived by the Vollkrafts, he walked awhile up and down the rampart ; and when he entered the house, he seemed more cheerful than he was. The reason why he did not relate all his grievances to Mr. Vollkraft lay in his nature ; for, open-hearted as he was with respect to every prosperous circumstance, he was just as silent regarding all he had to suffer. One cause of this was a great degree of self- love, and a wish to spare his friends. He was ready, however, to say every thing and reveal every thing, to certain people, who had passed through similar situations ; but this phenome- non had a still deeper foundation, which he did not perceive till long after. Rational and acute- thinking people could not, like him, regard every thing as the result of Divine guidance; no one doubted that Providence was specially leading him to some exalted aim; but whether much that was human had not intervened in the case of his marriage, and in other circumstances that had befallen him, was another question, to which every philosophical reasoner would loudly an- swer, “Yes!” Stilling, at that time, could not bear this at all; he thought he knew better, and this was the real cause of his silence. The se- quel of this history will show how far these people were right or wrong. But I return to my subject. The medical board fixed a time for his exam- ination in Midwifery, and for deciding respect- ing his treatment of the Schénenthal lady. In his examination, the most captious questions were put to him, and it was decided, that “though he was pretty correct in the theory, yet he had entirely fallen short in the practice ;” he was, therefore, only permitted to assist in cases of the utmost extremity. Notwithstanding all these vexatious circum- stances, Stilling could not refrain from laughing aloud on reading this, and the public laughed with him; he was forbidden to practise as an accoucheur, as an unfit person; but an excep- tion was made in extreme cases, in which the assistance of this unfit person was permitted. With respect to the case of labor above-men- tioned, Stilling was declared to have been the cause of the child’s death, but the punishment was spared him ; a great favor for the poor doc- tor—to be allowed to murder unpunished ! This decision, however, pained him to the soul; and he therefore rode, the same after- noon, to Duisberg, in order to bring the whole affair before the medical faculty there, the head of which, at that time, was the venerable Leide- frost. There he was declared perfectly inno- cent, and received a responsum which entirely restored his credit. The husband of the lady that had been delivered, published this document himself at the Schonenthal town-house. But the estimation of the cure suffered much by the course the matter had taken ; and Stilling’s en- emies took occasion from it to calumniate him. 90 HEINRICH Stilling’s success in curing the cataract had : however caused much sensation ; and a certain friend even inserted an account of it in the Frankfort newspaper. Now there was at the university of Marburg a very worthy and able professor of Jurisprudence, of the name of Sor- ber, who had been three years blind of the cat- aract, to whom this account in the newspaper was read. He instantly felt impelled to take the long journey to Schénenthal, in order to have the operation performed by Stilling, and to place himself under his care. He therefore arrived at the end of April, 1774, with his lady and two daughters, and Stilling successfully performed the operation in the beginning of May; his patient recovered so satisfactorily that he perfectly regained his sight, and still continues to fill his situation in an honorable manner. During this time, Christina was brought to bed a second time, and bore a son. With the exception of dreadful hysterical fits from the milk-fever, every thing went on fa- vorably. There was still one thing which lay at Still- ing’s heart. He wished to see his father again, after so long a lapse of time. As Doctor, he had not yet spoken to him, and his consort was still entirely unacquainted with him; but though he had frequently invited the worthy man, and Wilhelm had often promised to come, yet he always postponed his visit. Stilling now, however, did his utmost. He wrote to him to say that he would ride on a certain day to Meinerzhagen, which was half-way, to meet him, and would fetch him from thence. This produced the desired effect. Wilhelm Stilling set out at the proper time, and they met at the appointed inn, at Meinerzhagen. They ran to each other’s arms, and the feelings which as- sailed the hearts of both were unspeakable. ‘Wilhelm in unconnected ejaculations expressed his joy, that his and Doris’s son had now attain- ed the object for which he was designed ; he wept and laughed alternately ; and his son took good care not to give him the slightest hint rel- ative to his painful sufferings, his doubtful suc- cess, and the difficulties of his profession ; for by this he would have spoiled all his father’s joy. He nevertheless felt his grief the more deeply ; it pained him not to be so happy as his father imagined him to be, and he doubted also that he ever should be thus happy; for he al- ways regarded himself as one whom God had destined to the medical profession, and that he must continue in this vocation, although he had for some time taken a dislike to it; because, on the one hand, he found so little real encourage- ment in this science ; and on the other, because if he proceeded with it in an honest manner, it ‘was not sufficient to support him, much less to prove the basis of the prosperity of his family. The next morning, he placed his father on the horse, and acted the pedestrian at his side on the path; and thus they travelled nine leagues that day, conversing in a most agreea- ble manner, until they reached Rasenheim, where he introduced his father to the whole of his Christina’s family. Wilhelm was received in a manner worthy of him; he shook every one by the hand; and his honest, characteris- tic Stilling’s-face, inspired every one with rev- erence. ‘The Doctor now let his father walk on STILLING before, accompanied by one of his brothers-in- law, whilst he remained a few minutes longer, in order to give free vent to his feelings in the bosom of Mr. Friedenberg’s family; he wept aloud, thanked God, and then hastened after his father. He had never travelled the road from Rasenheim to Schénenthal with such heartfelt delight as on the present occasion; and Wil- helm likewise rejoiced in his God. On entering the house, Christina flew down- Stairs to meet the worthy man, and fell upon his neck with tears. Suchscenes must be wit- nessed, and the spectator of them must possess the requisite organs of sensibility, in order to be able to fee] them in all their force. Wilhelm remained a week with his children ; and Stilling again accompanied him as far as Meinerzhagen, from whence each pursued his way in peace. Some weeks after, Stilling was sent for early one morning to an inn, and was told that a strange gentleman, who was sick, desired to speak with him. He therefore dressed himself, went thither, and was conducted into the cham- ber of the stranger. He found his patient with a large cloth wrapped round his neck, and his head enveloped in clothes. The stranger stretched his hand out of bed, and said, with a weak and hollow voice, ‘‘ Doctor, feel my pulse! I am very weak and poorly.” Stilling felt it, and found the pulse very regular and healthy; he expressed himself therefore to that effect, and declared he found nothing wrong, for the pulse went regularly. Whilst saying this, Go- ethe took him round the neck. Stilling’s joy was indescribable, and he took him home with him. Christina was also happy to see this friend, and made preparations for dinner. Meanwhile he Jed Goethe to an eminence out of the town, in order to show him the charming view of the town and the extensive valley. Just at that time, the brothers Vollkraft were again in Schénenthal on business. They had a friend with them, who has rendered himself celebrated by his beautiful writings, but whom Stilling did not like, because of his satirical and sarcastic humour ; he therefore seldom visited his friends, for Juvenal (as I will for the present call the man) continually ridiculed him on ac- count of his attachment to religion. During the time that Stilling was taking a walk with Goethe, Mr. Vollkraft the chamberlain rode up to Stilling’s door on horseback, and called out to the servant, to tell her master that he had suddenly set off for Riisselstein, because Goethe was there. Christina was not present at the moment to inform him of the true state of the ease. Vollkraft therefore trotted off in haste; when Goethe and Stilling returned home, and the servant related the occurrence to them, they both regretted the mistake, but it was then too late to alter it. The peculiar occasion of this journey of Go- ethe’s was the following: Lavater had been visiting the baths at Ems, from whence he trav- elled to Muhlheim on the Rhine, to visit a friend there. Gdéethe had followed him to Ems; and in order to see every thing of a remarkable na- ture, and to visit some eminent characters, he had accompanied him to Muhlheim. Goethe then left Lavater behind him, and made an ex-_ cursion, by way of Riisselstein, to Schénenthal, STILLING’S DOMESTIC LIFE. zn order likewise to visit his old friend Stilling, promising Lavater to return to Muhlheim at a certain time, and accompany him back again. However, during Géethe’s absence, Lavater was under the necessity of likewise proceeding to Riusselstein, and from thence to Schénenthal; but of this, Goethe did not know a syllable; consequently, after dining with Stilling, he set out on horseback on the way to Risselstein, with the above-mentioned Juvenal, in order to meet the Vollkrafts there. Scarcely were they gone, when Lavatér came driving up the street, accompanied by the two Vollkrafts, the cele- brated Hasenkamp of Duisburg, and the very remarkable, pious, and learned Doctor Collen- busch. Stilling being informed of this, hastened after the two horsemen, and brought them back again. Lavater and his attendants, meanwhile, had turned in at a well-known and pious merchant’s.. Stilling, Goethe, and Juvenal hastened thither also. Never, perhaps, had a more singularly mixed company met together, than that which now surrounded the large oval table, which, ac- cording to the Schonenthal fashion, was at the Same time loaded with refreshments. It is worth the while for me to give even a rude sketch of these guests. Lavater’s fame for practical godliness had at- tracted thither, amongst others, an old adhe- rent of Tersteegen’s ; he was in every respect a venerable man: unmarried, according to the principles of pure mysticism ; extremely partic- ular in the choice of his company ; very friend- ly ; grave ; of a soft-featured countenance, com- posed look, and careful in all his expressions ; all his words were weighed, as it were, in gold scales ; in short, he was an excellent man, if I except the single peculiarity, which all persons of this kind so easily assume—that of being in- tolerant towards all who differ from them in opinion. This venerable man, with his round and lively face, round bob-wig and black small- clothes, sat towards the head of the table; he jooked about him with a kind of friendly anxi- ety, and now and then privately dropped mon- itory hints, for he scented spirits of very differ- ent sentiments. Next to him sat Vollkraft the chamberlain, in a fashionable riding-dress, a refined man of the world equalled only by few ; his lively dis- position shot forth sparks of wit, and his high- ly-rectified philosophical feeling judged always according to the balances of propriety, of recti- tude, and of justice. : After him followed his brother, the poet; from whose whole being streamed gentle, pleas- ing feeling, and benevolence towards God and man, let them think and believe as they would, if they were only good and worthy people ; his grey flock-hat lay behind him in the window, and his form was covered with a light summer frock. The landlord sat next him; he had on his nead a coal-black wig with a bag, and a brown chintz morning-gown, girded about with a green silk sash; his large prominent eyes started forth from beneath his broad and lofty forehead ; his chin was pointed, and the face, on the whole, triangular and meagre, but full of traits of un- derstanding ; he loved rather to hear than to speak; and when he spoke, every thing was ? 91 previously considered and decreed in the cham- ber of his brain ; certainly his dove-like simpli- city was not unaccompanied by the wisdom of the serpent. Lavater was next in order ; his apostle John’s face forcibly attracted every heart with venera- tion and love; and his cheerful and pleasing wit, combined with a lively and amusing hu- mour, made all present its own, who did not think they sinned by wit and humour. Mean- while his physiognomical feelers were secretly and constantly at work ; for here there was no want of objects. He had an able drawing-mas- ter with him, who also did not sit with his hands in his bosom. Near Lavater sat Hasenkamp, a man of about forty years of age; a little bent, thin, and hec- tic, with rather a long face, remarkable physi- ognomy, and an aspect which inspired venera- tion. Every word was a paradox, exciting re- flection and pleasure, though seldom systemat- ic ; his spirit sought for liberty, and struggled in its tabernacle after truth, until, having soon burst it, he soared aloft with aloud hallelujah to the Source of light and truth. His detached pieces cause orthodox and heterodox Christians to shake their heads; but he required to be known; he constantly walked with his per- spective glass in his hand, up and down the land of shadows, and looked over into the re- gion of the plains of light, the dazzling rays of which occasionally dimmed his sight. Collenbusch followed next, a theological phy- sician, or medical divine. His countenance was remarkably singular—a face which shook Lava- ter’s whole system ; it contained nothing disa- greeable, nothing bad; but, at the same time, nothing of all that on which he builds greatness of soul. A secret and serene majesty, howev- er, beamed forth through his features, which were disfigured by the small-pox, but so slightly as only to be gradually discovered in associating withhim. His eyes, which were struggling with the cataract and the gutta serena, and his ever- open mouth, showing two rows of beautiful white teeth, seemed as if they would attract the truth through worlds of space; and his very pleasing and agreeable language, connected with a high degree of politeness and modesty, fetter- ed every heart that approached him. Juvenal then followed. Let the reader ima- gine to himself a little, young, round-headed mannikin, the head inclining a little to one shoulder, with bright and roguish eyes, and an ever-smiling countenance—he said nothing, but made his observations in silence ; his whole at- mosphere was an impenetrable power, which re- pelled every thing that sought to approach him. Close to him sat a worthy young Schonen- thal merchant, a friend of Stilling, full of reli- gion without pietism, and glowing with a hun- ger after truth—a man who has few that are like him. Now followed Stilling; he sat there, witha profound and secret grief on his brow, which circumstances for the moment dispelled; he spoke occasionally, and sought to show each one his heart as it was. ; Some inconsiderable physiognomies, merely to fill up the vacant space, completed the circle. Goethe could not sit still; he danced about the table, made faces, and showed every where, in 92 HEINRICH his way, how royally the circle of men delighted him. The Schonenthal people thought to them- selves, ‘“‘Good heaven! the man cannot be right in his head!” but Stilling and others, who knew him and his ways better, thought they should burst with laughter, when some one regarded him with a fixed, and as it were compassionating eye, and he would confound him with a full and piercing look. This scene lasted, rather tumultuously, scarce- ly half-an-hour; when Lavater, Hasenkamp, Col- lenbusch, the young merchant, and Stilling, rose up, and wandered forth in the clear evening sunshine, up the lovely valley, in order to visit the excellent Theodore Miller above-mentioned. Stilling will never forget that walk; Lavater became acquainted with him, and he with La- vater ; they spoke much together, and became attached to each other. On arriving at the vil- lage, Stilling returned to Schonenthal with his friend; in the mean time, Goethe and Juvenal had set off for Russelstein, Lavater came next morning to visit Stilling, had his portrait taken for his work on Physiognomy, and then pursued his journey further. It was necessary to touch upon this remarka- ble period of Stilling’s life circumstantially ; for although it made no alteration in his situation, yet it laid the foundation for a variety of impor- tant changes in his future course of life. One thing more I have forgotten to observe ; Goethe took with him the manuscript of Stilling’s life, in order to be able to read it at home, at his lei- sure; we shall find, in the sequel, the excellent use which Providence made of this apparently trifling eircumstance, and of Goethe’s visit. — 101 and proposed him to the Elector; the confirma- tion followed, and nothing more was wanting but the formal vocation. While all this was transacting, the summer passed away. Stilling now gradually withdrew himself from the medical profession. "With the exception of a few wealthy town-patients, who afforded him his needful support, he scarcely did any thing in physic, but devoted himself entirely to his future engagement, which was so agreeable to him. All his knowledge of political economy lay in his soul like a confused chaos; but, as future professor, it was necessary that he should bring every thing into a system. Nothing was easier to him than this, for his whole soul was system ; his plan of instruction in those sciences, there- fore, developed itself before his eyes without trouble, and he contemplated the beauteous whole with the utmost inward delight. I refer my readers to his numerous publications, in or- der not to detain them here with learned disser- tations. In these pleasing employments, the summer passed over, the harvest approached, and he ex- pected his appointment day afterday. But what ensued ? In the first week of September, he re- ceived a letter from Eisenhart, which entirely annihilated the whole affair! On the Elector’s proceeding to Bavaria, the project was started of removing the newly-established academy to Manheim, where there were men of every de- scription able to fill the professorships. Eisen- hart deplored it, both on his own account and Stilling’s ; however, he could not alter it. His condition was now perfectly indescriba- ble. He and his poor wife sat together in their chamber, and shed floods of tears; ali seemed now to be lost; for a long time he could neither think nor recover himself, he was so stupefied. At length he cast himself before God, humbled himself under His mighty hand, and committed himself, his wife, and his two children, to the paternal guidance of the Most Merciful ; resolv- ing, without the smallest murmur, to return once more to the practice of medicine, and to endure every thing that Providence might ordain re- specting him. He now began to go out again, to visit friends and acquaintances, and relate his misfortune to them; his practice returned, and it seemed as if it would go better with him than before. He therefore surrendered himself en- tirely to the will of God, and was tranquil. He who is acquainted with the divine proce- dure will be aware, without my reminding him of it, that all this is precisely the method of Providence. Stilling had hastened towards his aim with eagerness and impure desire ;—pride, vanity, and other passions, had intermingled themselves in his mind; in such a state, he would have arrived at Rittersburg with bluster- ing ambition, and would certainly not have been successful. It is the maxim of Eternal Love, to render its pupils pliant and perfectly resigned in their wills, before He advances further with them. Stilling, therefore, at that time, believed firmly that he ought and must remain a physi- cian; and his resignation went so for, that he even no longer desired the vocation, but was en- tirely indifferent to it. It fared with him pre- cisely in the same manner as on former occa- sions ;—when he was disgusted with his trade, he hastened eagerly away from Schonberg to Mr. Hochberg’s; and I have already described, in his ‘* Wanderings,” how miserably he was situated there; he afterwards engaged himself 102 HEINRICH to Mr. Isaac, where he was satisfied, and would gladly have remained at his trade; so that Mr. Spanier was obliged to constrain him to leave his situation. The Schonenthal people, meanwhile, again sounded fiercely the alarm; for now it was deemed evident that the whole affair was Still- ing’s invention, and solely fabricated from van- ity; but this troubled him little, for habit had inured him to calumy; he no longer saw or heard any thing of the kind. Profoundly re- signed to the will of God, he hastened from one patient to another, from morning till evening; and Christina made preparations for the winter, as she was wont, by preserving a variety of fruits, white-washing, and repairing the house, &e, A week before Michaelmas, his appointment suddenly and unexpectedly arrived. He receiv- ed it calmly, and without the smallést eagerness ; yet he felt inwardly happy; he and his consort returned God thanks, and they began to prepare for their departure, and their long journey. The academy was to be continued at Rittersburg, be- cause too many difficulties had occurred in the way of its removal. I have described the first caso Stilling attend- ed; I will now also detail the last, for it is not less remarkable, A full league beyond Schénenthal, lived a very upright, pious, and wealthy merchant, of the name of Krebs; his spouse, as regards her head and her heart, was one of the noblest of her sex; and both of them had often employed Stilling, for they knew and loved him. ‘They had a private teacher for their children, a man of seventy years of age, who was by birth a Saxon, and was called Stoi. This man was a most singular character; tall, thin, and of a very venerable aspect; very learned, and imbu- ed with the most exalted virtues, he possessed, as the result of religious principles, a coolness, a resignation, and a submission to the will of God, almost unexampled; every motion and position of his body was decorous; his whole being was naturally grave, and every thing he said was weighed in the balances; each word was a golden apple on a salver of silver; and what was particularly excellent in this worthy man, was his modesty and carefulness in judg- ing; he never spoke of the faults of others, but concealed them where he could, and looked merely at himself. Stoi was a pattern for a man and a Christian. This remarkable man was seized with the military fever. The course of the disease was natural, and, as usual, not dangerous. At length the whole of the inflammatory matter settled in his right arm, which became scarlet all over, and burned and itched so intolerably that he could not endure it any longer. Stoi, through his whole life, had troubled himself about no- thing so little as his body; he considered it as a borrowed tenement; he was always temperate, and had never been ill; consequently he knew not the necessity of carefulness, and was igno- rant of danger; he therefore sent for a bucket full of cold water, and plunged his arm into it, to the bottom ; this relieved him—the burning and itching subsided, and with it the redness and eruption; he drew his arm out again, and, be- hold, it was like the other. Stoi was glad that he had been so easily cured. STILLING. felt nothing; he felt the pulse of that arm, and found it was quite still; he felt it at the neck, and it beat regularly; in short, he was in other respects perfectly well. If he wished to move his arm, he found that he was unable, for it was as if it were dead; he now began to think all was not right, and therefore sent for a neighbour- ing physician; the latter was alarmed, as was rea- sonable, applied blisters to the arm, and scourged it with nettles, but all in vain; it remained insen-~ sible. By degrees, the fingers began to rot, and the putrefaction crept gradually up the arm. Troost and Stilling were now calledin. They found the arm swollen up to the elbow, of a blackish hue, and emitting an intolerable stench. As they entered the door, Stoi began, “‘ Gentle- men, I have committed a piece of imprudence (here he related the whole affair); do your duty; 1 am in the hand of God; I am seventy years of age, and shall be well satisfied whichever way - the matter terminates.” __ The two physicians consulted together; they already perceived that the arm must be ampu- tated; however, they thought they would still attempt some other means previously, by which the operation would be facilitated. Mr. Troost therefore took his instruments, and made a varie- ty of incisions round about, near where the mor- tification ceased; the patient felt nothing at all of it; they then made applications of the decoc- tion of Peruvian bark, and prescribed this de- coction to be taken frequently inwardly. The next day they were again sent for, and requested to bring their instruments to amputate the arm. They accordingly set out for that purpose. On their arrival, they found the pa- tient lying on a field-bed, in the middle of the room; around him, along the walls, stood a number of young people of both sexes, who shed silent tears, and prayed in secret. Stoi lay very tranquil, and did not manifest the smallest fear. “Gentlemen,” he began, “I cannot endure the stench; take off my arm above the elbow, near the shoulder, where it is certainly still sound ; whether the stump be afterwards an inch longer or shorter, is of little consequence.” Stilling and Troost found what he said was correct, and promised to have it finished speedily. Although all others present trembled at the dreadful preparations, yet Stoi did not; he strip- ped the arm, rolled up the shirt above the shoul- der, and pointed out the place where the arm was to be taken off. Stilling and Troost could searcely forbear smiling; when the latter applied the screw, in order to close the pulse-vein, he assisted them very quietly and resignedly; he even wished to help them during the operation. Stilling, however, prevented this; and, on the contrary, bent himself towards the old man’s face, turned it away from the operation, and spoke with him upon other subjects; during which time Troost made the incision through the flesh to the bone. Stoi sighed only once, and continued his speech. The bone was then sawn off, and the stump bound up. The whole of the case was remarkable. Mr. Troost slackened the screw a little, in order to see whether the vein would spring or not; but it did not do so, even when the screw was entirely removed; in short, the inflammatory matter had concentrated itself in a swelling in the upper part of the arm, which kept the nerves and veins firmly pressed together; but this was first However, he soon perceived that his arm had | discovered after his death. lost its sense of feeling; he pinched the skin, but Appearances were encouraging; a favorable STILLINGS DOMESTIC LIFE. uaiceration succeeded, and the cure was consid- ered certain, when Stilling was again sent for in haste; he ran thither, and found poor Stoi rat- tling in his throat, and drawing his breath with great difficulty. ‘I have committed another impradence,” stammered out the sick man to him. “J rose up, and went to the window; a cold north-wind blowing upon my arm, I began to shiver; the matter has lodged in my breast. I am dying; and it is well: however, do your duty, Doctor; in order that the world may not afterwards slander you.” Stilling took off the bandage, and found the wound perfectly dry ; he strewed it with powdered cantharides, and covered the whole stump with a blister; he then prescribed other appropriate remedies; but they were all unavailing —Stoi died under his hands. “A full stop now to my medical practice,” said Stilling to himself. He accompanied the good Stoi to his grave, and buried him with his profession. However, he resolved to retain the occupation of an oculist, merely because he was so successful in it; but then he made it a law with himself, that he would in future receive no recompense, but practise it solely for.the glory of his Heavenly Father, by serving his fellow- men. The period now approached when he was to leave Schonenthal and remove to Rittersburg. October was already far advanced, the days were short, the weather and the roads bad; and finally, he was under the necessity of com- mencing his lectures with the beginning of November. However, there was previously ‘still a steep cliff to climb; eight hundred guilders must be paid before he could remove. Many friends advised him to assign over his goods, and to give up all to his creditors. But this was not according to Stilling’s views of propriety. “ No, no,” said he; “every one shall be paid to the uttermost farthing. I promise this in the name of God; He has been my guide, and cer- tainly will not let me be confounded. I will not make myself a knave, and abandon the school of my heavenly Father.” “It is all very well,” answered they; “but what will you do now? You are unable to pay; and if you are arrested, and your furniture seized, what will you then do?’ “T leave all that to God,” rejoined he, “and do not trouble myself about it, for it is His affair.” He consequently began to pack up, and for- ward to Frankfort what he intended to take with him, and appointed a day for selling the rest by auction. Every thing passed over quietly, and no one stirred; he sent away furniture and re- ceived money without any one interfering; he even took places in the stage to Riisselstein for himself, his wife, and the two children, for the fol- lowing Sunday, consequently a week before- hand. Meanwhile, he was privately informed that a couple of his creditors had concerted to- gether to have him arrested; for, as the little household furniture he possessed was altogether of trifling value, they had not troubled them- selves about it, but believed that if they thus hindered him in his course, people would be found to liberate him. Stilling inwardly trem- bled with anxiety, yet still he firmly trusted in God. The following Thursday, his friend Troost entered the door, with a cheerful, smiling coun- tenance, and tears in his eyes; his pockets seem- ed loaded. “Friend,” he began, “things go 103 again in Stilling’s fashion.” So saying, he drew out a linen bag, filled with French dollars, and threw it upon the table. Stilling and Christina looked at each other, and began to weep. “ How is that ?” said he to his friend Troost. “Tt is as follows,” answered the latter. “I was at a certain merchants,” whose name he men- tioned; ‘I knew that you owed him sixty dol- lars, and begged him to remit the debt. The merchant smiled, and said, ‘ Not only so, but I will present him with sixty in addition to it; for I know how much he is straitened.’ He paid me, therefore, the money, and there it is; you have now nearly the eighth part of what you need; but I wiil give you a little advice: to- morrow you must take leave of all your ac- quaintances, in order that you may spend Satur- day quietly, and thus prepare for your journey. Be comforted, and see what God will do for ou.” Stilling followed this advice, and on the Friday morning began to take leave. The first to whom he went was a rich merchant. As he entered the door, the latter came to meet him, and said, “ Doctor, I know you are come to take leave. I have never mistaken your character; you were always a man of integrity ; but I could not employ you as a physician, for I was satisfied with my own. God has raised me from the dust, and made me what I am; I acknowledge how much I am indebted to Him; have the goodness to receive this acknowledgment in His name; do not shame me by a refusal, nor sin through pride.” So saying, he embraced and kissed him, and put into his hand a little roll of twenty ducats, consequently a hundred guilders. Stilling was petrified with astonishment, and his noble-minded benefactor hastened away. Amazement seized him by the hair of his head, as the angel did Habakkuk; he was lified up on high by the greatness of his joy, and proceeded further. But, why do I detain my readers? Acknowl- edgments were pressed upon him with the great- est delicacy and consideration ; and in the even- ing, when he had finished his round and returned home, and counted the money over, how much had he?—-exactly eight hundred guilders, neither more nor less! Such sublime scenes are only weakened by description, and by the most brilliant expres- sions; I am silent, and adore! God will re- member you, ye secret Schonenthal friends! } will bring you forward on the day of retribu- tion, and say, “Lo, O Lord! these are they that rescued me from my state of helplessness; re- ward. them immeasurably, according to thy great promises ;” and He will doit. To thee, thou chosen and unshaken friend, Troost, I say nothing. When eventually we walk hand in hand through the plains of yonder world, we will talk the matter over! 1 have hitherto, in several places, described the character of the inhabitants of Schénenthal in no very favourable manner; and it is very possible that many of my readers may have re- ceived a general impression of dislike to that place. I must myself confess, that I cannot di- vest myself of this impression ; but this has no reference to the noble-minded few, who, even in their striving after wealth, or, together with their vocation, cherish those exalted feelings which ever have real love to God and man for their inseparable companions. ‘These Schonenthal citizens cannot therefore take it amiss of me 104 HEINRICH that I write the truth; for their sakes, the Lord blesses that flourishing place; and it causes them honour, both in the sight of God and men, that, in the midst of so many temptations, they retain their courage, and do not suffer them- selves to be carried away with the stream. But the pietists of that place will, in an es- pecial manner, pronounce a woe upon me, for having so openly represented them in their true colours; this also has only reference to those amongst them who have deserved it. Why do they hang out the sign of religion and the fear of God, and yet do not what religion and the fear of God command? In our time, when Christianity is assaulted on all sides, and made the butt of blasphemy, the sincere admirer of religion must work and be silent, except where he must necessarily speak. But why do I stay to excuse myself? The Lord will take cogni- zance of it, who judgeth righteously. It is long since I have mentioned any thing respecting Mr. Friedenberg and his family, or stated how this worthy man and his household acted on the occasion of Stilling’s appointment to Rittersburg. Friedenberg was a manufacturer and mer- chant. Both he, as wellas his wife and children, were extremely industrious, thrifty, and active ; their attachment to religion had preserved them from all dissipation and all the amusements of the great world. He had begun with nothing, and yet, with the divine blessing, had become a moderately wealthy, though not a rich man; hence an unfavourable sentiment towards Still- ing prevailed in him and his family. They had no idea of the chardcter of a learned man, and, generally speaking, learning was little es- teemed by them; that which did not increase their property was very indifferent to them. As men of business, they were quite in the right; but it was on this very account they were in- capable of forming a correct judgment of Still- ing, for the latter strove after the attainment of truth and knowledge; the unceasing considera- tion how every moment something was to be gained or saved, could not possibly fill a mind whose whole sphere of operation was occupied with higher things. Hence arose a species of coolness, which inexpressibly pained the sensi- tive heart of Stilling. He sought to portray the matter in its true form to his father-in-law; but the result always was, “ A man must maintain himself honestly ; this is his first duty; the sec- ond is then, certainly, that of being useful to the world.” ‘ Very correct,” thought Stilling; ‘no one in the world can think ill of the worthy man for judging thus.” Friedenberg was not merely indifferent to the Rittersburg appointment, but even displeased ; for he regarded his son-in-law as a confirmed bad manager, so that he thought a fixed income would avail him just as little as his practice in Schénenthal; and since he was become security for his debts, he was afraid he would now have to bear all the burden himself, and, perhaps, in the end, be obliged to pay all. Stilling’s heart suffered extremely from this circumstance; he had nothing to say in his defence, but was obliged to lay his hand upon his mouth and be silent; but the most ardent sighs for succour incessantly arose from his oppressed heart to his heavenly Father. His confidence remained unshaken, and he firmly believed God would gloriously deliver him and crown his faith. However, he promised his father-in-law to pay STILLING. off yearly a couple of hundred guilders, and thus continually lighten the burden. ‘This was. agreed upon, and F’riedenberg consented to his. removal. On the Saturday, Stilling went with his Chris- tina and the two children to Rasenheim, in order to take leave. ‘The painful feelings which are customary on such occasions were now much alleviated by the situation of affairs. Stilling,. however, feared his consort might be unable to bear the assault upon her sensibilities, but he was mistaken ; she felt, much more deeply than he did, how much she and her husband were misapprehended. She was conscious that she had economized to the utmost of her power; that her dress, for a doctor’s lady, was extreme- ly moderate, and much beneath the wardrobe of her sisters; and, finally, that, neither in eat- ing nor drinking, nor in furniture, had she done more than she could answer for. She was, therefore, cheerful and courageous, for she had a good conscience. Hence, when the evening approached, and her whole family were sitting in a circle, mourning, she sent her two children away, after their grand-parents had blessed them, and then stepping into the circle, she stood. and said : ‘We are about to travel into a foreign land, with which we are unacquainted; we forsake parents, brothers, sisters, and relations, and we forsake them all willingly; for there is nothing: that renders parting painful to us. The Lord has sent us sufferings and afflictions without number, and no one has helped, refreshed, or consoled us; the grace of God alone has pre- served us, by the aid of strangers, from total ruin. I shall go with joy. Father, mother, brother, and sisters, live so that I may meet you all again before the throne of God!” So saying, she kissed one after the other in their turn, and hastened away, without shedding a tear. Stilling now also took leave, but with many tears, and walked after her. The following morning he placed himself, with his wife and children, in the stage, and set off. ——=gy--__ CHAPTER X. Tue further Stilling removed from the scene: of his fiery trial, which had lasted six years and a half, the more his heart expanded; his whole soul was filled with thankfulness and a high degree of joy. Nothing brings purer pleasure than the experience which the sufferings we have endured afford us; we come forth more purified and more and more glorified from every purifying fire; and this likewise is solely the invaluable characteristic of the religion of Je sus, which no other ever had; it teaches us to know sin and suffering. To this was added the more exhilarating prospect of the future—a des- tination entirely accordant with his previoug guidance and his character; a vocation which insured him a certain maintenance, and gave hopes for the liquidation of his debts; and final- ly, a people who could not have any prejudices against him. All this infused profound peace into his soul. At noon he met a part of the private society of Schénenthal at an inn, where they had order- ed a parting dinner. Here, therefore, he dined, and enjoyed himself in the company of these STILLINGS DOMESTIC LIFE. excellent men, and then travelled to Riisselstein. Two of his brothers-in-law accompanied him thus far, and then returned. From Riisselstein he took a conveyance to Cologne, and another from thence to Frankfort. At Coblentz he visit- ed the celebrated Sophia Von la Roche, to whom he was already known by means of the history ot his life. He then proceeded to Frankfort, where he visited his old friends, but especially the Rev. Mr. Kraft, who shewed him extraordi- nary affection and friendship. After a day’s rest, he went, on account of the great floods, by way of Mayence, Worms, and Frankenthal, to Manheim, where he was re- ceived with open arms. Here he found many friends and well-wishers, in consequence of his history having appeared in print. Favor, friend- ship, affection, and tenderness, were every where shown him; and it is indescribable what a pleasing effect this had upon him and his Chris- tina, after having been so long trodden under foot. Eisenhart now gave him several impor- tant admonitions. Sulling’s history, notwith- Standing the favorable reception it had met with, had excited a prejudice of pietism; every one regarded him as a man who was, after all, a refined enthusiast, and of whom it was neces- sary to be upon their guard in this respect. He was therefore warned not to speak too much of religion, but to let his light shine solely by in- tegrity and good actions ; for in a country where the Catholic religion predominated, it was ne- cessary to be prudent. Stilling perceived the truth of all this, and therefore sacredly promised to follow his advice punctually; however, he was forced to laugh heartily, for at Schonenthal he was reputed an infidel, whilst here he was accounted a pietist; so little truth is there in man’s judgment. He now pursued his journey into the woody and mountainous province of Anstrasia. Not- withstanding the rude season of the year, and the dead and leafless scenery, Stilling gazed with pleasure on the precipitous rocks and mountains, the aged forests, and the ruins of old baronial castles everywhere hanging to the cliffs —every thing reminded him strongly of his na- tive province. He felt at ease, and soon saw at a distance the wood-crowned Rittersburg, with all its ancient towers; his bosom heaved, and his heart beat more strongly, the nearer he approached the scene of his future life. At length, in the twilight, he drove in at the gates. As the carriage turned to the left, and drove through the narrow street, he heard a man’s voice call out, on his right, ‘‘ Halt!” The coach- man stopped. “Is professor. Stilling in the coach?” A twofold “Yes” responded from the vehicle. “ Well, then, alight, my dear and chosen friend and colleague; here you must lodge.” The kind and gentle tone of his voice affected Stilling and his consort even to tears. They alighted, and were received in the arms of pro- fessor Siegfried and his lady ; professor Stillen- feld, his other colleague, also soon appeared, whose retired, quiet, and peaceable character particularly attracted Stilling’s attention. Stil- lenfeld was still unmarried, but Siegfried had already one child; he and his spouse were ex- celient people, fall of zeal for religion and all that is good, and at the same time enthusiasti- cally philanthropical. Siegfried was, at the same time, a very learned and deep-thinking philoso- pher, pe chief inclination was directed to 105 Divinity, which he had formerly studied; but he now taught the laws of nature and of nations, and Civil, Financial, and Political Economy. Stillenfeld, on the contrary, was a very refined, noble-minded, upright character, full of system, order, and mathematical exactness; in Mathe- matics, Natural Philosophy, Natural History, and Chemistry, it was difficult to find his equal. Stilling felt happy with these men; and his wife soon attached herself to professor Siegfried’s lady, who gave her information in every thing, For cm her in the regulation of her house- hold. The difference between Schénenthal and Rit- tersburg was certainly great. Old, irregular houses; low rooms, with ceilings supported by crossed beams; little windows, with round or hexagonal panes of glass; doors which could not be shut close; stoves of dreadful dimensions, on which the marriage of Cana in Galilee, with its twelve stone vessels of water in bas-relief, was edifyingly portrayed; then a prospect into no- thing but gloomy forests of fir—nowhere a rushing stream, but a serpentine, creeping, fen- ny water, &c. All this certainly formed a sin- gular contrast with the scenes to which they had been so long accustomed; Christina also had often tears in her eyes; but by degrees we become accustomed to every thing, and thus both habituated themselves to their new situa- tion, and were heartily satisfied with it. Stilling now wrote both to Rasenheim, to his father-in-law, and to his father at Leindorf, as also to his uncle at Lichthausen, and faithfully pictured to these friends his whole situation ; in doing which, 'he by no means forgot to dilate upon the excellent prospects he had respecting the future. Johann and Wilhelm Stilling were filled with astonishment at their Heinrich’s new elevation; they looked at each other, and said one to another, “ What will he at length be- come?” Friedenberg, on the contrary, was not particularly pleased; instead of expressions of satisfaction, his answer was full of paternal ad- monitions upon domestic economy; he had no feeling for the honor done to his son-in-law and his daughter, in his being nominated professor ; in fact, fame and honor did not affect him. As the system of Political Economy which Stilling had formed to himself lay much on his heart, he appropriated the first winter to the de- velopment of it in his manual, and at the same time to the reading of lectures from what he had written. In the spring, this book was printed at Manheim, under the title of ‘“‘An Essay on the Principles of Statistical Knowledge.” It met with much approbation, notwithstanding its faults and imperfections ; and Stilling now be- gan to be,fully assured of his destiny —he felt himself entirely in the department that was nat- ural to him. Bveiny obligation which his office laid upon him, was at the same time his greatest pleasure. It is impossible to conceive a more happy situation than that in which he now found himself; for even the people amongst whom he lived, loved, honored, and valued him and his Christina beyond measure; all calumny and turmoil was at an end; and if a storm had not continually threatened him from Schonenthal on account of his debts, he would have been per- fectly happy. The following summer, Stilling read lectures npon the treatment of woods and forests, Tech- nology, and Agriculture; for he did not satisfy himself merely with the sciences to which he 106 HEINRICH was appointed, but also glowed with desire to expand his system as far as possible in his sphere; and as the treatises in use were not adapted to his plan, he formed the resolution of writing compendia upon all the sciences he was acquainted with, and made preparations for commencing the work. Stilling had been hitherto in the furnace of his divine Founder, and from the rough had been wrought into a serviceable instrument; but the file and the polish were still wanting; nor were these forgotten; for events were forming at a distance, which were to put the last hand to the work, and which at length were more painful to him than every thing he had hitherto endured. The Society of Political Economy, of which he was now a regular member, operated with unspeakable blessing and success for the coun- try, and the Palatinate can never sufficiently thank it for its labors; this is truth, and no com- pliment. It instituted the statistical academy; es- tablished a manufactory which flourishes great- jy, and affords maintenance for many hundred people; and of all this, Counsellor Eisenhart was the first and last main-spring, the real weight to the clock. They had also bought a farm in the village of Siegelbach, a league and a half from Rittersburg, where they intended to make a variety of new agricultural experiments, and thus to set a good example to the farmers. This farm had been hitherto under the care of managers: but every thing had failed, nothing would succeed, for every circumstance proved unfavorable. Now when Stilling came to Rit- tersburg, the management was committed to him, as professor of Agriculture; and he accepted this secondary office, believing that he was fully competent to it. The steward was therefore dis- missed, and the whole business committed to Stilling; this took place immediately after his entrance upon his professorship. On arriving at Siegelbach, and after examin- ing every thing, he found a large and beautiful cow-stable, laid with flags, arranged entirely in the new style; in this there were twenty lean skeletons of Swiss cows, which gave altogether, daily, three pails of milk; the true image of Pharaoh’s lean kine. There were likewise two working horses, with two foals; and outside, in separate sties, a tolerable herd of swine; and, although it was only November, yet all the hay was long ago consumed, as well as al] the straw for strewing. Hence there was a want of milk and butter for housekeeping, and fodder for so many great mouths. ‘This pressed strongly upon the good professor’s heart; he therefore applied directly to the society, but there he could not obtain a hearing. Every one told him he must do as well as he could, for all were weary of having always to pay. Stilling was now again deficient in rieetieey prudence; he ought immediately to have resigned, and given up the management; however, he did not do so—he was too much attached to the whole institution, and believed its honor was so closely connected with his own, that it was incumbent upon him to proceed with it, and this was his misfortune. The first thing he undertook was the sale of half of the cattle; for he hoped with the sum he should realise from it, to be able to buy so much straw and fodder as to provide in a proper man- ner for the other half. He therefore made ar- rangements for a public auction, and was aston-, ished at the concourse of people and the prices, 60 that he felt assured he should surmount the STILLING. mighty obstacle. But how was he terrified on learning that most of the buyers were creditors, who had demands on the estate; whilst the rest, to whom the estate was not indebted, were poor; he therefore obtained little money, and he found that if he wished to help himself, he must put his hand into his purse, and where that did not suffice, borrow money on his own credit. He had, it is true, the well-grounded hope, that in the following summer a large and abun- dant harvest would be more than sufficient to re- pay every thing, and that the produce of the large clover-fields and grass-lands would relieve him from the burden; and so far he was excu- sable; still, however, for a man in his circum- stances it was thoughtless to undertake any thing of the kind, particularly when he learned the true state of the case; but, oh, how easy it is, after struggling through grievous sufferings, to discover the little outlet by which we might have escaped! God be praised for his guidance! To these threatening clouds, others collected themselves. The ruling persons at Rittersburg were all Roman Catholics, in the coarse sense of the word; the Franciscans filled the clerical office, and had the care of the souls of the par- ishioners ; it was therefore of importance to these divines that stupidity and superstition should be always preserved; the chief magis- trate, in particular, was their faithful adherent. But the academy of Political Economy had now established itself in the town, the teachers of which were all Protestants, and the latter even exercised a jurisdiction; all which was natural- ly a thorn in their eyes. Now there resided there a certain learned man, of the name of Spassel, a singular character, who had few equals; his dress was very negligent, and even occasionally dirty; his gait and walk slovenly; and all his speeches savoured of low wit, so that he acted the jack-pudding in every company. In secret, he was the spy of one of the superior clergy, who was high in favor with the Elector, and likewise the news-monger and tale-bearer of the chief magistrate; openly, he was a face- tious scoffer at certain usages of his own religion; but woe to that man who assisted him in so do- ing! for he had secretly entered into the Fran- ciscan fraternity, to which he faithfully adhered. It is painful for me to hold up this man to public view. However, as he was an instru- ment in the hand of Providence, I cannot pass him by. If he be still living, and be recognised, and if he be still what he was, he is justly serv- ed, and it is a duty to warn every upright char- acter against him; but ifthe be dead, or be not recognised, my description of him will do him no injury. As long as an individual is still continued in this state of probation and purifi- cation, he is capable of amendment and return; if Spissel, therefore, become, even according to the principles of his own church, a worthy, up- right, and benevolent character, all those who formerly knew him exactly as I here describe him, will alter their sentiments—will love him; and there will be more joy in Rittersburg, as well as in heayen, at his return to virtue, than over ninety-and-nine worthy individuals, who have not had so severe a struggle with disposition and character as he. Then will I also step for- ward, before the whole world, and say, “Come, brother, forgive, as I have forgiven thee; thou art better than I, for thou hast overcome more numerous enemies.” This Spiissel had sought, from the commence 4 STILLINGS DOMESTIC LIFE. ment, to be made a member of the Society of Political Economy, and even to become profes- sor of the Veterinary art; but they were afraid of him, for he was a very dangerous man, who, besides, did not possess the decorum which is so requisite for a professor; they had consequently been very careful to keep him at a distance. Now as Stilling obtained the Veterinary depart- ment along with the rest, he was therefore in his way. There was also something in addition to this; the society had a library, which was open once in the week for a lecture, from six till eight o’clock in the evening. Stilling voluntari- ly undertook this lecture gratuitously ; partly, in order to increase his knowledge of literature, and partly by this means to be the more useful to his hearers; the society had also permitted ail the literati of the place to make use of their books at this lecture. Spassel rarely took advantage of this privi- lege ; but towards the spring, he began to come ofiener. The management of the farm at Sie- gelbach, however, caused Stilling to make an al- teration in the matter; as he was compelled to go thither every Monday, and being unable to read the customary lecture on that day, he trans- ferred it to the Tuesday evening. This he made known to all the students, and begged them to make it public. Spassel, however, came three Mondays following, and found the door closed; on the third, he sat down and wrote the following note: 1 insert it just as it was:* “it Is probablee intended bi Professer Stilling To make A fool of me—but This is to informe Him—That Spiassel duz not intend To b maid a fool of !!!—the zosiete ote to instrukt there pee- ple in there dooti and devores. SPASsEL.” Stilling sent this note in a letter to counsellor Eisenhart, the Director, and informed him of the circumstances of the case; the latter wrote im- mediately to Mr. Spissel, and represented the matter in its true light, in a polite and honest manner. But this was pouring oil into the fire; for the honest man came to Stilling, and made use of such malicious and offensive expressions, that the latter broke out into a glowing flame, and marched Mr. Spdssel as quickly as possible out of the door and down the steps, and then called after him, ‘“‘ Never cross my threshold again, until you are become a better man.” Here the matter ended; but that Spassel kept all this in remembrance, in order eventually to take advantage of it, may be easily supposed. About this time there appeared another mete- or in the horizon of Rittersburg. A certain ar- rogant Englishman, of the name of Tom, had travelled through many a province as English language-master, made a thousand plans, and built castles in the air, but all had failed. In other respects, he was a man of uncommon tal- ents, learned, and, on the whole, a genius, in the real sense of the term. The motive of all his actions was ungovernable pride; destitute of re- ligion, rigid materialism and blind fate seemed to be his guides. Philanthropy, that offspring of Deity, was unknown to him; he loved nothing but himself; the name of “ language-master’’ was odious to him, although, in reality, he was nothing more, and he assumed the appellation of Professor of English Literature. Poverty was a hell to him, and yet he was extremely poor; for when formerly he was a wealthy mer- * As the note of course must be translated for the Eng- lish reader, the above is given as the nearest possible speci- men of the illiterate original.—Eb. 107 chant, he had acted the part of a great man, and afierwards, as may easily be supposed, became bankrupt. This individual resided at that time in Manheim; and as the institution at Ritters- burg seemed to him to be just the place where he could support himself and acquire tame, he ap- plied to Kisenhart to assist him in obtaining a professorship in the Rittersburg academy. Ev senhart, who knew the ability of the man, but also his dangerous character, and besides deem- ed it necessary to economize with the favor of the Elector, always positively refused his re- quest. At length Tom resolved to go thither, without either salary or employment; he there- fore merely applied for permission to reside there and lecture; and this was readily granted him. Eisenhart therefore wrote to Stilling, who had the providing of lodgings and quarters for the students committed to him, to procure a dwelling for professor Tom, at the same time describing the man to him, and stating what kind of a lodging it must be. Stilling accord- ingly hired a couple of handsome rooms at a merchant’s, and awaited Tom’s arrival. At length, one afternoon, a female-servant came from an inn, with the following note, ad- dressed to Stilling : “ Professor Tom is here.” “Fla!” thought Stilling; “a singular an- nouncement!” As he always made it a maxim, in cases which could not prejudice himself or the good cause, to “ take the lowest place,” he took up his hat and stick, in order to go to the inn. At the same moment, word was sent from the merchant that he would not permit the English language- master to enter unless he paid for the first quar- ter in advance. “ Very well,” thought Stilling, and proceeded to the inn. ‘There he found a re- spectable-looking, well-made man, with a broad and lofty forehead, large staring eyes, thin face, and pointed lips, from whose features spirit and craftiness every where looked forth; near him stood his wife, dressed in a riding-habit whilst grievous care gnawed her heart, which was ey- ident in her swimming eye, and the downward inclining corners of her mouth. After the exchange of compliments, during which Tom seemed to wish to penetrate deeply with his feelers into Stilling’s soul, the latter said, “Sir, I have now seen where you have alighted; come with me, in order also to see where I live.” “JT will,” said he, at the same time pointing his lips, and looking very sarcastical." On ar- riving at Stilling’s house, he said to him further, “Sir, we are pleased at having so able a man amongst us, and heartily wish it may go well with you.” Tom walked up and down, making all kinds of grimaces, and replied, “1 will make the at- tempt.” Stilling.—“ But Imust tell you one thing; you will not take it amiss of me, I have rented two handsome rooms for you at Mr. R——’s; but the honest man demands a quarter’s rent in ad- vance ; now, as you are unknown to us ali, the man is not so much to blame.” Tom.— So! (he walked hastily up and down,) I will go back again to Manheim; I will not let myself be insulted here, either by a professor, or any one else.” Stilling —“ As you please! We will quietly and contentedly suffer you to return.” 108 HEINRICH Tom.—‘‘ What!—why then have I been de- coyed hither 2” Stilling now took him by the arm, looked him full and seriously in the face, and rejoined, * Sir, you must not seek to act the proud Briton here. None of us, nor any honest German, troubles himself in the least on that account. At your own request you have been permitted to come hither, and it is altogether in our power whether we send you out of the gates or not. Now be calm, and observe the respect you owe to one who is your superior, or else depart, if you please. However, I advise you to remain here, and act the part of a man of integrity, and all will go well. Remember that you are an entire stranger here, whom no one knows, and who consequently has not the smallest credit; for a rogue may possess your name, as well as an honest man.” Stilling was now called out; the merchant had taken a view of Mr. Tom’s furniture, and sent word that he would receive the language- master without the advance. This news paci- fied Mr. Tom, and he took possession of the apartments. But that I may not waste both time and room in detailing every little event and circumstance, 1 will only observe, in short, that Spassel and Tom united together, and formed a plan to over- throw Stilling, expel him from his situation, and then divide his office between them. Their preparations were extremely cunning, exten- sively concerted, and maturely digested, as the result will shew. The general idea that Stilling had still some inclination to enthusiasm and pietism, appeared to the two caballers the weak side, to which they must direct their artillery and make a breach. They walked, therefore, a long time up and down the street before Stilling’s house, in the twilight, in order to spy out what they could. Now he was frequently in the habit, after dinner, of play- ing hymn-tunes upon his harpsichord and sing- ing to them, in which his Christina joined; this was spread abroad; it was said he had family- worship, prayer-meetings, and the like; and thus the public were gradually prepared. This intel- ligence Spassel communicated also to the court at Munich, in order that every thing might be complete. A circumstance was added to this which fully decided the matter. Stilling had found at Sie- gelbach a stock of Swiss cheese, which he took home with him, in order to sell; in consequence of which, a number of tradespeople, women, and girls, came frequently to buy cheese. Now there were some of them who were of a religious turn, and occasionally spoke on the subject with Still- ing’s consort—one of them once invited her to her garden, in order to afford a little change to herself and her children. Christina accepted it without hesitation, and Stilling imagined no- thing evil. She went therefore on the day ap- pointed ; and after the lecture-hours, he walked to the garden also, to fetch his wife and children. Here he found four or five females sitting round his Christina in the summer-house ; some edify- ing works lay on the table, between currant- cakes and coffee-cups, and all were engaged in religious conversation. Stilling sat down by them, and began to preach circumspection: he represented to them how dangerous meetings of that kind were in a place where every action and movement of the Protestants were so minutely observed; he then clearly and fully proved to STILLING. them that religion does not consist in such con- versation, but in a devout life, &c. But who could have imagined that Spassel, at that very time, was standing behind the hedge, and overheard every thing! Suilling, at least, never dreamt of such a thing. How was he as- tonished, therefore, on receiving letters a week after, containing the most serious, and I may well say the severest reproaches from his friends at Manheim and Zweibriicken ? he really knew not what to think of it; and if the holding a garden-conventicle had not been mentioned, he would never have dreamt how this venomous calumny had originated. He therefore answer- ed the above letters in a manly manner, and ac- cording to truth; and his friends believed him ; but on the whole, there always remained a sen- sation behind which was prejudicial to him, at least amongst the Catholics. In Rittersburg itself, the thing created disturb- ance, The chief magistrate threatened impris- onment, and reasoned very excellently ; but the Protestants murmured and complained that they were not suffered even to hold family-worship. Stilling lost nothing in their estimation ; on the contrary, they valued him so much the more. The two Protestant clergymen, two venerable and excellent men, Mr. W—— and Mr. S—, also took up the affair; they visited the females in question, admonished them to be prudent, consoled them, and promised them protection ; for they knew they were good and worthy peo- ple, who cherished no principles which were contrary to religion. Mr. W—— even preach- ed, the following Sunday, upon prudence and duty with respect to family-worship; during which, he finally turned towards Stilling, and addressed him openly, by breaking out into the following words: ‘“ But thou, suffering wanderer to the lofty aim of the Christian and the truly wise, be of good cheer; endure patiently, and walk with circumspection between the snares that adversaries lay for thee! Thou wilt over- come, and God will crown thee with blessings ; God will make shame the companion of thy foes, but upon thee shall the crown of the conqueror flourish. Let us accompany each other, hand in hand, through the burning sandy desert, and one shall console the other when his heart sighs for help,” &c. The whole congregation fixed their eyes on Stilling, and blessed him. Through the efforts of these exce!lent men, the whole parish was again tranquillized; and asa statement of the affair was transmitted to the Palatine ecclesiastical board, the chief-magis- trate received an injunction to talk no more of imprisonment, until really illegal conventicles had been held, and excesses committed under the name of religion. But in the mean time, Tom and Spissel seeretly continued their mach- inations at the court of Munich, and really car- ried matters so far that Stilling was on the point of being cashiered. He did not hear of this dan- gerous storm until it was happily over; for the divine interference of a superintending Provi- dence was also visible in this affair. Atthe very moment when an ecclesiastic of high rank seri- ously urged the Elector to remove him, and ren- dered Stilling suspected by him, and when the thing was all but decided, another ecclesiastic equally respectable, but a warm friend of Still- ing, and who knew the real state of affairs at Rittersburg, entered the cabinet of the Elector. The latter, on hearing the subject of the conver- sation. took Stilling’s part and defended it so ‘ STILLING’S DOMESTIC LIFE. strikingly and convincingly, that the Elector at once ordered the intolerant prelate to let the mat- ter rest, and did not withdraw his favor from Sulling. Had not this worthy clergyman come thither accidentally, Stilling’s misfortune would have been boundless. He first heard of the whole affair half a year afterwards, just as I have related it. During this period, he lived quietly, fulfilled his duties, and acted as prudently as possible. Spiassel and Tom, meanwhile, concocted a va- riety of extensive plans for a general literary ¢lub, a topographical society, &c. But they be- came themselves al variance on these important affairs, and began to hate each other bitterly. Tom’s creditors now made a stir; and as Still- ing was at the same time Dean of the academy, and therefore his regular superior, he crept to the cross, came to him, wept, and confessed every thing in which he had coéperated with Spassel to his detriment; he even shewed him the letters and statements which had been sent from thence toMunich. Stilling was perfectly amazed at all the infernal wickedness and extremely artful de- vices of these men; but as all was now over, and as he learned just at that time how he had been rescued at Munich, he forgave Spassel and ‘Tom every thing; and as the latter was in pain- ful and needy circumstances, he consoled and supported him, as well as he was able, without infringing upon strict justice; and when at length Tom could no longer remain at Ritters- burg, and was desirous of removing to a certain German university, in order to try his fortune there, Stilling provided him with money for the journey, and gave him his hearty blessing. Tom there tried all his tricks once more, in order to elevate himself; but he failed. And what did he attempt next? He laid aside his pride, was converted, put on a very modest dress, and became a pietist! God grant that his conversion may be real, and nota mask for wick- edness and pride. However, the way from one extreme to the other is by no means distant or difficult, but very easy and beaten. May the Lord bless him, and give him the opportunity of effecting much good, that so his former cata- logue of sins may be blotted out! Meanwhile, Stilling was highly successful in his situation as professor; he lived entirely in his element. But as Iam unwilling to detain my readers with a variety of circumstances, even though of an interesting nature, which have no direct reference to his fate or his guidance, I will merely proceed with the principal course of his history. The management of the Siegelbach estate went wrong; nothing succeeded; there was ev- ery where curse instead of blessing; unfaithful servants, thievish neighbors, secret perfidy of the inferior officers; all these stood in Stilling’s way, so that at length, unless he were willing to be ruined himself, along with the estate, he was obliged to give up the entire management, and render in his accounts. Though he was deliv- ered by this means from this heavy burden, yet he was plunged still deeper into debt; for he had attempted and expended much, which he partly could not charge, and partly would not, in order not to be suspected of self-interest; and thus he came off from the affair with honor, but at the same time with an addition of debt. Misfortunes of every kind now began to gath- er over his head. Debts had heen formed at Rittersburg, as well as at Schénenthal; the in- 109 terest was searcely paid, much less any liquida- tion of the principal; besides this, all kinds of reports were spread abroad, that Suilling kepta coach and horses, lived at an amazing expense, and never thought of his debts. He had six hun- dred guilders salary, and received from two to three hundred guilders lecture-money; at the same time, the prices of every thing in Ritters- burg rose almost double, so that with all econo- my scarcely so much remained over his neoes- sary expenditure as covered the interest; with what, therefore, were the debts to be paid? Al- most every post-day, the most tormenting let- ters arrived from his father-in-law, or from some creditor in Schénenthal. Mr. Friedenberg him- self was in a very unpleasant situation; he was security, and was threatened with an action at law by the man who had formerly so kindly as- sisted Stilling from love toGod and man. Still- ing therefore had every moment to expect that his benefactor, his father-in-law, would, on his account, be obliged to stop payment. This thought was agony to him; and then, under all these dreadful circumstances, to possess not the smallest intimation of help, nor the remotest pre- sentiment of it! Dreadful! dreadful was this situation! and to whom could he unburden himself? ‘To no one but God; and this he did incessantly; he strove, without ceasing, with unbelicf and mistrust, yet never cast his confidence away. .All his letters to his father-in-law were full of submission to Divine Providence, and censoling; but they no longer produced any effect. Counsellor Eisen- hart himself, who knew something of his situa- tion, made fruitless attempts to assist him. Still- ing wrote “Florentine Von Fahlendorn,” and “Theodore Von der Linden,” and sought, with what he received for them, to stem the torrent; but it was like a drop ina bucket. He wrote to several great and eminent friends, and stated to them his circumstances; but some were un- able to help him, others took a dislike to him, others again exhorted him to endure to the end; and a couple assisted him with a drop of refresh- ment to his parched tongue. Every thing therefore was in vain, and it con- tinued to thunder and lighten incessantly from Schonenthal. During this dreadful period, the Almighty prepared for judgment upon Stilling, in order, at length, to decide his fate. On the 17th of August, 1781, on a very sul- try and thundery day, Christina had lifted a heavy basket upon the head of the servant-girl, and in doing so felt something crack in her breast, which was soon succeeded by acute pain, with shivering and fever. On Stilling’s return from the college, as he entered her room, she came to meet him, deadly pale, with the air of a culprit, and said, “ Be not angry, my dear hus- band ;—by lifting a basket, I have done myself an injury in the breast; God be gracious to thee and me! I forebode my death.” Stilling stood stupefied, and like one thunder- struck; weak and worn-out with protracted sor- row, he imagined he felt the mortal blow; his head inclined upon his shoulders, and projecting forwards, his hands clenched, his eyes fixed, with a weeping expression of countenance, though not a tear flowed, he stood mute; for he row also anticipated Christina’s decease with certainty. At length he recovered himself, en- deavored to comfort her, and brought her to bed. In the twilight of the evening, the disease 110 HEINRICH manifested itself in all its virulence. Christina laid herself down, like a lamb for the slaughter, and said, “Lord, do with me as seemeth thee good. I am thy child; if it be thy will that I shall never see my parents and sisters again in this world, I commit them into thy hands; only ’ guide them in such a manner as that I may eventually see them again, before thy throne!” Christina’s first attack was, therefore, properly speaking, a pectoral fever, accompanied by hys- terical paroxysms, which manifested themselves in a violent cough; several physicians were called in, and various remedies were employed in order to save her. After the lapse of a fort- night, there was some amendment, and it seem- ed as if the danger were over. Stilling there- fore composed thanksgiving-hymns, and wrote the pleasing account of her recovery to his friends: however, he was greatly deceived; she did not even leave her bed; on the contrary, her illness settled into a regular pulmonary con- sumption. ‘The waters now entered into Sull- ing’s soul; the thought of losing so dear a con- sort was intolerable to him, for she was the best of wives; polite, extremely obliging, whilst the tone of her conversation and her modesty capti- vated every one. Her cleanliness was remark- able; all were happy around her; neatness and | order predominated in her very simple dress; and all that she did was performed with extreme facility and celerity. Amongst intimate friends she was mirthful, and witty with due decorum, whilst at the same time she was eminently de- vout, and devoid of hypocrisy. She avoided the outward mask of godliness, for experience had warned her against pietism. Stilling knew all this; he deeply felt her value, and hence he could not bear the thought of losing her. She herself now again desired to live, and consoled herself with the hope of recovery. However, the dreadful paroxysms returned occasionally ; she coughed so violently that pie@ts of her lungs, as large as nuts, flew about the room; and she suffered, at the same time, the most dreadful pain. In all this affliction she never murmured, nor was ever impatient, but only ex- zlaimed incessantly, with a loud voice, ‘“ Lord, spare me, according to thy great mercy!” And when her husband and nurse were perspiring with anxiety, compassion, and fatigue, she look- ed at them both with an inexpressibly supplica- ting countenance, and said, ‘“ My angel and my all! My dear Mrs. M——, have patience with me, and forgive me the trouble ane you,” Acquaintances often stood at a distance at the door, and wept aloud, as did also poor people, whom she had relieved, for she was very benefi- cent. Stilling struggled in prayer for days and nights together; a corner of his study was rendered smooth by kneeling, and wet with tears; but heaven was shut against him; every ardent sigh rebounded back again; he felt as if the paternal heart of God were closed. Christina being un- able to bear the sound of footsteps, he went con- stantly in stockings, and ran in the distress of his heart from one corner of the room to an- other, until the feet were worn through, without his being aware of it. During all this time, threatening and insulting letters continued to ar- rive from Schénenthal. Mr. Friedenberg’s heart was broken by the expectation of his daughter’s approaching death; but still his reproaches did not cease. He was now convinced that Stilling was the cause of all his misfortunes, and excuse STILLING. was of no avail. The situation ii which the poor susceptible man found himself, exceeds all description; but the more his distress increased, the more ardently and earnestly did he cleave to the compassionating love of God. After some weeks, in the beginning of Octo- ber, Stilling was standing one evening at the staircase-window; it was already night, and he prayed to God in secret, as he was wont; all at once he felt a profound tranquillity, an unspeak- able peace of soul; and consequent upon this, a deep submission to the will of God; he still felt all his sufferings, but, at the same time, strength enough to bearthem. He went into the sick-room, and approached the bed; but Chris- tina beckoned to him to remain at a distance; and he then perceived that she was engaged in eamest silent prayer. At length she called him, motioned him to sit down, and turned herself with difficulty, in order to lay herself on the side next him; she then regarded him with an inexpressible look, and said, ‘‘I am dying, dear- est angel; take heart,—I die gladly; the ten years we have passed in the marriage-state have yielded nothing but suffering; it does not please God that I should see thee delivered out of thy distress, but He will deliver thee; be comforted and calm—God will not forsake thee. I do not commend my two children to thee,—thou art their father; and God will provide for them.” She then gave several directions, turned herself about, and was qniet. From that time, Stilling often spoke with her concerning death, and of her expectations after death ; and did all he pos- sibly could to prepare her for her end. Hours of anxiety still frequently occurred; and then she wished for an easy death, and that it should happen in the day-time, for she dreaded the night. His colleague, Siegfried, often visited her (for his consort, on account of sickness, pregnancy, and sympathy, could seldom come, and at length not at all), and assisted him in the struggle, and in affording to her consolation. At length she approached her dissolution. On the 17th of Gctober, in the evening, he perceiv- ed the forerunners of death; towards eleven o’clock he lay down, completely weary, in an ante-room, and reposed in a kind of stupor, till five o’clock in the morning, when he again arose, and found his dear sufferer very composed and cheerful. “I have now overcome!” she exclaimed, as he entered; ‘I now see the joys of the world to come vividly before me; nothing cleaves to me any more—nothing whatever.” She then repeated the following verses : ««¢ Amongst the lilies thou shalt feed, With joy supremely blest ; Thither, O soul, thy pinions speed, Like eagles to their nest. Behold for thee the Sayour waits, To open wide heaven’s pearly gates.’ O let me run, and mount, and fly, To join the heavenly host, And the seraphic choirs on high, In adoration lost— With blissful songs surround the throne Of Jesus, and the great Three-One ! Dear Brother of my soul! unmoor My vessel from the strand, Give me to reach the peaceful shore, The safe, the heav’nly land— There, where thy sheep securely feed, Afar from sorrow, want, and need. There’s nothing to my heart shall cleave, Of all the world can give ; ; Why should I longer mourn and grieve, Or wish on earth to live? I'd burst these fleshly prison-walls, And hasten where my Saviour calls. STILLINGS DOMESTIC LIFE. Beloved Redeemer! grant me faith— A faith that conquers all— That triumphs over sin and death, And flies to reach the goal. For Thee, my soul, like some lone dove, Mourns, till I climb the realms above. How soon canst thou my grief dispel, My mouth with laughter fill ; And through the shades of death and hell, Lead safe to Zion’s hill! Then shall life’s painful passage seem But like some empty, transient dream. The curse of sin thou hast for me In all its anguish borne ; Dismay and fear must therefore flee, Like night before the morn. The sting of death no more gives pain, And all my bones shall rise again. Thou Prince of life, with purest flame My soul shall sing thy praise, And magnify thy holy name Here, and to endless days! Eternal life to me is given— Take me, O Lord! to thee in heaven.” Stilling’s whole soul melted into tears; he sat down by the bedside, and waited the departure of the friend of his soul; she often pressed his hand, with her customary favorite expression, “My angel and my all!” but she said nothing more. She did not desire to see her children, but only commended them to God. But she frequently repeated the words, ** And through the shades of death and hell Lead safe to Zion’s hill,” and rejoiced in the consolation they contained. Towards ten o’clock, she said, ‘‘ Dear hus- band, I am very sleepy, and feel very comforta- ble; should I wake no more, and dream myself into eternity, farewell!’ She then looked at him once more, with her large black eyes, most expressively, af his hand, and fell asleep. In about an hour, she began to be convulsed, sighed deeply, and shuddered; her breath now ceased, and the features of death covered her countenance; her mouth still, however, inclined itself to a smile. Christina was no more! A tender husband must have witnessed a sim- ilar scene, or he can form to himself no idea of this. At the same moment Siegfried entered, looked towards the bed, fell upon his friend’s neck, and both shed gentle tears. “Thou dear angel!” exclaimed Siegfried, whilst bending over her, ‘‘thou hast now en- dured to the end!” But Stilling kissed her pal- lid lips once more, and said, “‘ Thou unparallel- ed sufferer, thanks be to thee for all thy love and fidelity ; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord!” When Siegfried was gone, the two children being brought into the room, their father led them to the corpse, and they cried aloud; he then sat down, took one on each knee, pressed them to his bosom, and all three wept together. At length he recollected himself, and made the arrangements which the circumstances required. On the 2ist of October, in the morning twi- light, Stilling’s Rittersburg friends carried his deceased consort to the burial-ground, and in- terred her with all quietness. His friends, the two Protestant preachers, who sat with him du- ring the time, alleviated this last separation, and supported him by consolatory conversation. ‘With Christina’s death ended a great and im- portant period in Stilling’s history; and one equally important gradually commenced, which gloriously and tranquilly developed the object of the painful trials through which he had hith- erto »een led. 1lt CHAPTER XI. Arter the death of Christina, Stilung sought to arrange his solitary mode of life in a propex manner. He took a journey to Zweibricken, where he had very good and faithful friends ; and with them he conferred respecting where he could best place his children, in order to have them educated ina proper manner. It appeared that there was in Zweibriicken, as it seemed, a very good she rapes for that purpose; he therefore settled the matter, travelled back again, and fetched them. His daughter was now nine, and his son seven years old. But after having disposed of his children, and returned to his solitary and empty dwelling, all his sufferings returned upon him; with an inex- pressibly melancholy feeling he covered his face, weeping, and sobbing, so that he could scarcely comfort himself. He had given up his house- keeping, sent away the maid, and the people with whom he lived brought his dinner into his room; he was therefore like a complete stranger, and quite alone. He almost repented having sent away his children and the servant, but he could not possibly do otherwise; his children must necessarily receive an education; besides which, his vocation took up too much of his time for attention to his domestic affairs, and he could not entrust a servant with the housekeep- ing; the arrangement he had already made was certainly the best, but to him intolerable. He had been accustomed to walk, hand in hand, with a faithful friend, and her he possessed no longer; his sufferings were unspeakable. His father, Wilhelm Stilling, sometimes sought to comfort him by letter, and recalled to his recol- lection the years of his childhood, when he was reminded how long and painfully he also had lamented the loss of his departed Doris; yet time had gradually healed the wound, and such would be the case with him, But this availed little; Stilling was in distress, and saw no out- let by which he could escape. To this was added also the gloomy close of autumn, which, irrespective of other circum- stances, had much influence on Stilling’s spir- its. When he looked out of the window, and beheld the leafless scene around him, it seemed to him as if he were walking solitary amongst corpses, and saw nothing around him but death and corruption; in a word, his melancholy was indescribable. Four weeks after, in the middle of November, one Saturday afternoon, this sorrowful feeling rose to its height; he ran in and out, and could find rest no where ; all at once he began to pray ; he shut himself up in his closet, and prayed with the utmost fervour, and with unspeakable con- fidence, to his Heavenly Father, so that he could not leave off. When in the lecturer’s chair, his heart continued its supplication; and when again in his chamber, he was again upon his knees, calling and praying aloud. At six o’clock in the evening, after reading his last lecture, and as he had just entered his room, the servant- maid came and told him a young man had just been there to inquire for him. Immediately af- terwards, the latter entered; with a friendly and captivating expression of countenance, he said, “T am from R , and hold an appointment in a government office; in accordance with the electoral regulations, I must study here at least half-a-year, however inconvenient it may be to me; for though I have no children, yet I have 112 a wife;—I am glad, however, to become ac- quainted with Stilling. Now I have a request to make to you; | have heard, with regret, that wour lady is dead, and that you are solitary and melancholy ;—how would it suit you, supposing you permitted me and my wife to lodge with you, and dine at the same table? We should then have the benefit of your company, and you would have society and entertainment. I can flatter myself that you will be pleased with my wife, for she is of a noble mind and disposition.” Stilling’s soul revived at these words, and he felt as if some one had all at once taken the burden of his sorrows from his shoulders, so that he could scarcely conceal his extreme pleasure. He therefore went with Mr. Kiihlenbach to the inn, to pay his respects to his consort, who heard with joy his willingness to receive them. The next day, this excellent and worthy couple re- moved into Stilling’s habitation. Every thing now went on in its regular and cheerful course. Stilling, it is true, was still al- ways melancholy; but it was a pleasing melan- choly, in which he even felt a comfort. He was now also enabled to publish his lectures in ro- tation, the sums he received for the copyright of which encouraged him with respect to the liquidation of his debts; for he saw a boundless field before him, in which he could labour as an author all his life, and thus make his income amount yearly to fifteen hundred guilders. He made a public sale of his superfluous household furniture, and retained nothing more than he himself required; and with the money thus ob- tained he paid his most urgent debts. This very tolerable mode of life continued till the end of the winter of the year 1782. Kihlen- bach then began to talk of removing, which re- newed Stilling’s anxiety, for he was apprehen- sive that his horrible melancholy would again return; he therefore sought to form a variety of plans, but none of them satisfied him. Just at that period, he received a letter from Mr. Kisen- hart, advising him to marry again. Stilling clearly perceived that this would be the best course for him; he therefore resolved upon it, after many conflicts, and awaited the intimation and guidance of Providence. His first thoughts fell upon an excellent wid- ow-lady, who had one child, some property, bore the noblest of characters, and was of very good descent and respectable family. She had already given great proofs of her domestic man- agement, and was acquainted with Stilling. He therefore wrote to her; the worthy woman an- swered him, and stated such important reasons which prevented her from marrying again, that Stilling, as a man of integrity, was obliged en- tirely to relinquish her. This unsuccessful at- tempt made him timid, and he resolved upon acting more cautiously. About this time, a light entered his mind re- garding his affairs, of which, up to that period, he had not had the smallest idea; for as he was once taking a walk alone, and reviewing his ten years of sorrow in the marriage-state, he inves- tigated whence it came that God had led him through such painful paths, since his marriage was so entirely ordered by Providence. ‘ But was it really thus ordered ?” inquired he; “ may not human weakness—may not impurity of mo- tive have mingled themselves with it?” The scales now seemed to fall from his eyes; he erceived in the light of truth, that his father-in- aw, his departed Christina, and he himself, had HEINRICH STILLING.,. acted at the time neither according to the pre- cepts of religion, nor of sound reason; for it is the Christian’s highest duty, wader the guidance of Providence, to examine every step, and partic- ularly the choice of a wife or a husband, ac- cording to the rules of sound reason and propri- ety; and after this has been properly done, ex- pect the Divine blessing. But all this was neg- lected at that time; Christina was an innocent, inexperienced girl; she secretly loved Stilling, clung to his love, prayed to God for the fulfil- ment of her wishes; and thus religion and af- fection mingled in her hysteric attacks. Neither her parents nor Stilling knew any thing of this; they looked upon it as Divine inspiration and influence, and were obedient to it. ‘The impro- priety and imprudence of the thing showed it- self too late, in the painful consequences. Chris- tina had no property, Stilling was equally desti- tute; he was compelled to study with other peo- ple’s money, and afterwards was unable to econ- omize like a tradesman, so that he could neither support himself nor pay his debts. Christina, on the contrary, who was brought up in a trades- man’s family, expected from her husband the principal regulation of the household, and econ- omized only with that which came to her hand; she would therefore have made any tradesman happy, but never a man of learning. Stilling, however, clearly recognized, with all this, that his ten years of painful probation, as well as the events of his whole life, had been in- expressibly beneficial to his character and his whole existence. God had made use of his own impurity as soap, in order to purify him more and more; his dear and beatified Christina had stood the ordeal, and had been perfected in this very path, Stilling therefore broke out in loud thanks to God, that he had done all things so well. This discovery he also communicated to Mr. Friedenberg, but the latter took it amiss; he al- ways believed the thing was from God, that Still- ing alone was to blame for every thing, and that Ae ought to amend himself. I sincerely de- sire my readers not to cherish any bitterness against this worthy man, who has now finished his course. He was upright and pious, and was recognized, loved, and honored as such by all men. But how easily may the most upright man mistake; and what saint in heaven has not erred! However, it was most repugnant to him that Stilling was determined to marry again. His first attempt to find a consort being un- successful, Stilling’s inmate, Kahlenbach, began to propose. He was acquainted with an excel- lent young lady in S——, who possessed con- siderable property, and who, he hoped, would be suitable for Stilling. I must, however, ob- serve, that every one now advised him to take a rich wife; for they concluded that he would be the most easily assisted by so doing, and he himself thought it was the best step he could take. He often shuddered indeed for himself and his children, when he thought of a rich wife, who perhaps had no other good qualities ; however, he placed his trust in God. Kihlen- bach Jeft him at Easter; and at Whitsuntide Stilling travelled to S——, to make the second attempi; but this, together with the third, was fruitless, for both persons were previously en- gaged. Stilling now put a full stop to these endeav- ours; it was not at all congenial to him to re- ceive refusals; he therefore presented himself STILLING’S DOMESTIC LIFE. with a contrite heart before God, and said to Him, with the most fervent filial confidence, “ My Father! I resign my destiny entirely to Thee; 1 nave now done what I could. At present I look for Thy direction; if it be thy will that I should marry again, do thou conduct a faithful spouse to me; but if I am to remain single, do thou tranquillize my heart!” At that time, that excellent lady, Sophia Von la Roche, was residing with her husband and her still unmarried children at 8 Sull- ing had visited her; but as he did not enjoy her intimate friendship, he had told her nothing of his intention. The first post-day after the above-mentioned prayer and filial resignation to Providence, he received, very unexpectedly, a letter from that admirable lady; he opened it eagerly, and found, to his astonishment, amongst other things, the following :— ‘“‘Your friends here have not been so prudent as you were with me; for it is here a generally well-known affair, that Stilling has made sever- al unsuccessful offers of marriage. ‘This vexes me, and I wish it had not occurred. “Must you necessarily have a lady of prop- erty? or would one of my friends suit you, of whom I will now give you a correct descrip- tion? She is very virtuous, handsome, and of a noble, ancient, and learned family, and excel- jent parents. Her father is dead; but her ven- erable, sickly mother is still alive. Sheis about twenty-three years of age, and has _ suffered much; she has been well brought up, exceeding- ly able in every female employment, and a very economical housekeeper; devout, and an angel for yourtwo children. She has not much prop- erty, but will receive a regular dowry, &c. [fall these qualities, for the truth of which I pledge my- self, are an equivalent with you for some thousand guilders, please inform me. I will then mention her to you, and tell you what you have to do,” & c. Stilling’s feelings on reading this letter cannot be described ; a few days before he had solemn- ly committed the affair of his marriage to Provi- dence, and now a person is pointed out to him, who possesses exactly all the qualities which he desired. The thought certainly occurred to him: “But she has no property; will not my torment therefore continue?” However, he dared not reason now according to his own principles; she was the object to which the finger of his heavenly Leader pointed; he therefore obeyed, and that very willingly. He shewed the letter to Mr. Siegfried and his lady, as well as to the Lutheran preacher and his spouse; for these four persons were his most intimate friends. Allof them recognized, in a very lively manner, the intimation of Providence, and encouraged him to follow it. He decided therefore to do so, with God’s help; and wrote a very“obliging let- ter to Madame Von la Roche, in which he be- sought her to make him acquainted with the in- dividual, for he would obey the intimation of Providence, and follow her advice. A week af- ter, he received a reply; the worthy lady wrote to him that her friend’s name was Selma Von St. Florentin, and that she was the sister of the senatorial advocate of that name, who resided there ; that all she had written of her was true; that she had also shewn her his letter, mention- ed something of the affair to her, and she had expressed herself to the effect that it would not be neue to her to receive a visit from 113 Stilling. Madame Von la Roche advised him therefore to take a journey to Reichenburg, where Selma was at that time residing at the Eagle Inn, because the innkeeper was a relation of hers. Stilling was always rapid and ardent in his undertakings ; he therefore directly travelled to Reichenburg, which is a day’s journey from Rittersburg, and four leagues from S——. He, consequently, arrived there in the evening, and drove to the inn above-mentioned. But he was now in a dilemma; he dared not enquire after the lady whom he sought, and yet without this, his Journey would probably be fruitless; how- ever, he hoped she would make her appear- ance, and that God would further direct his way. As it was still very early, he went to an intimate friend, to whom he communicated his intentions; and although this friend had an- other plan for him, yet he confessed that Selma was all that Madame Von la Roche had de- scribed her to be; nay, that she was even wor- thy of higher praise, if possible, but with all this, not rich. Stilling rejoiced in his heart at this testimony, and replied, ‘‘ Although she is not rich, if she be only a good housekeeper, all wilt go well.” He now returned to the inn; but notwith- standing all his observation, he could hear or see nothing of her. At nine o’clock supper was served up; the company at the table d’hote was agreeable and select; yet he sat as on thorns, for even then Selma did not appear; he was grieved, and knew not what he should do next. At length, when the dessert was placed on the table, a venerable old man, who sat on his left, began as follows :—“ A pretty joke has happen- ed tome. [had resolved to-day to pay my re- spects to Madame Von la Roche; and as our agreeable dinner-companion, Mademoiselle Von St. Florentin (here Stilling pricked up his ears very nimbly) heard that [ was returning this evening, she requested I would take her with me, because she wished to visit her brother the advocate. Her company was very agreeable to me; she therefore rode with me to went to her brother, and I to Madame la Roche. At dinner, she sent to tell Mme that she would walk with her brother towards Reichenburg, and would wait for the coach at a certain village, where she requested I would stop and take her back with me. 1 therefore mentioned this to the coachman, who however forgot it, and took an- other way; consequently, we are now deprived of her society.” Much was then said in Selma’s praise, so that Stilling had enough to listen to; he now knew what he wished to know—the object of his de- sires was in S——. He therefore retired to his chamber as early as he could, not to sleep but to think; he reflected whether his not meeting with her was not an intimation of Providence, in order to draw him away from her. He tor- mented himself the whole night with this idea, and knew not whether he should return straight- way home again, or go first to S——, in or- der previously to speak with Madame Von la Roche. At length the latter decision predomi- nated; he therefore rose_at four o’clock in-the morning, paid his bill, and went on foot to S——, where he arrived on the 25th of June, 1782, at eight o’clock in the morning. On entering the parlour of Madame Von la Roche, the latter clapped her hands together, and exclaimed, with an inexpressibly kind look, ‘Ha, Stilling! where do you come from?” 114 HEINRICH Stilling replied, “You directed me to Reichen- burg, but Selma is not there; she is in this town.” ‘“‘ Selma is here! how is that?” He then stated the whole affair to her. ** Stilling, this is admirable! it is the finger of Providence. I have been reflecting on the sub- ject; at the inn at Reichenburg you would not once have dared to look at her, much less to speak with her; but here it can be all arranged.” These words quite cheered him, and tranquil- lized his heart. Madame Von la Roche now made arrange- ments for a meeting. Mr. Von St. Florentin’s colleague in office, Mr. P——, together with his lady, were very good friends of Madame Von la Roche, as well as of Selma; she therefore wrote a note to them, in which she informed them that Stilling was at her house, and requested them to.mention it to Selma and her brother, and beg of them to take a walk, about ten o’clock, in their garden, and that Mr. P—— would then gall for Stilling, to take him thither. All this accordingly took place; advocate P—s lady went to fetch Selma and her broth- er, and Mr. P—— conducted Stilling. What his feelings were upon the way, God knows. Mr. P—— led him out of the gates, and to the left by the walls, towards the south, into a beautiful shrubbery, with trellis-work and a handsome summer-house. The sun shone in the cloudless sky, and it was a most beautiful summer-day. On entering, he saw Selma, dressed in an orange-coloured silken gown, and a black straw hat, walking much disturbed amongst the trees; she wrung her hands, evidently in extreme men- tal emotion ; in another place, her brother was walking with the advocate’s lady. As Stilling approached and appeared to them, they all placed themselves in a position to receive him. After he had complimented them generally all round, he stepped up to Selma’s brother; this gentle- man had a dignified and very handsome figure, which pleased him extremely at first sight; he approached him therefore, and said, “ Sir, 1 am desirous of soon being able to call you brother!” This address, which could only have proceeded from Stilling, must necessarily strike a man of such a refined education and knowledge of the world; he therefore made a bow, smiled, and said, “ Your obedient servant, professor Stilling! I shall account it an honour.” Mr. P—— and his lady, with St. Florentin, now hastened into the summer-house, and left Stilling alone with Selma. He walked towards her, presented her his a.m, and led her slowly forwards; just as di- rectly and without circumlocution, he said to her, ‘‘ Mademoiselle, you know who I am (for she had read his history); you know also the object of my journey; I have no property, but a sufficient income, and two children; my charac- ter is as I have described it in the history of my life. Ifyou can resolve to become mine, do not leave me long in suspense ; I am accustomed to hasten to the object I have in view without cir- cumlocution. I believe if you make choice of me, you will never repent of it; [ fear God, and will seek to make you happy.” Selma recovered froin her confusion, and with an unspeakably graceful expression of counte- nance, she raised her beaming eyes, elevated STIBBIN 6. They now arrived at the summer-house, where he was considered, investigated, examined, and exposed to view on all sides. Selma alone cast her eyes down, and did not say a word. Stilling shewed himself unvarnished, just as he was, and did not dissemble. It was then agreed that Sel- ma and her brother should come in the afiernoon, after dinner, to Madame Von la Roche, and that there the matter should be further discussed; on which every one went home again. ~ Sophia asked him, immediately on entering the room, how he had been pleased with her Selma. Stilling —“ Admirably ! she is an angel !” Madame Von la Roche.—‘ Is she not? I hope God will bring you together.” After dinner, Selma was eagerly expected, but she did not come. Sophia and Stilling became uneasy ; tears forced their way into the eyes of both; at length the worthy lady made a propo- sition, should Selma entirely refuse her consent, which fully shewed her angelic soul as it really was; but modesty and other important reasons forbid me to mention it. At the moment when Stilling’s anxiety had reached its height, Mr. Von St. Florentin with his sister entered the room. Sophia took hold of the advocate’s arm, and conducted him into. an adjoining apartment, and Stilling drew Sel- ma near him upon the sofa. Stilling.—“ Was it indifference, or what was it, that you suffered me to wait so anxiously ?” “ Not indifference,” answered she, with tears in her eyes; “I was obliged to pay a visit, and was detained; my feelings are inexpressible.” Stilling.—‘ You therefore determine to become mine ?” Selma.—‘1f my mother consents, I am eter- nally yours !” Stilling. —“ Yes, but your mother ?—” Selma.— Will have no objection to it.” He embraced and kissed her with unspeak- able delight; and at the same moment Sophia, with the advocate, entered the room. They stopped short, and were evidently amazed. “Are you so far advanced already?” ex- claimed Sophia, with evident pleasure. “ Yes! yes!” said he, and led her arm-in-arm towards them. The noble-minded soul now embraced both, lifted up her eyes, and said, with tears and the utmost inward emotion, “God bless you, my children! The beatified Christina will now look down with heavenly delight upon her Still- ing, for she has besought this angel as a wife for thee, my son !” This scene was heart and soul-affecting; Sel- ma’s brother also mingled with the group, bless- ed them, and vowed eternal and fraternal fidelity ‘to Stilling. Sophia then sat down, taking her Selma upon her lap, who hid her face in her friend’s bosom, and bedewed it with tears. : All at length recovered themselves. The at- traction Stilling felt to this excellent young lady, who was now his betrothed, was unlimited, al- though he was still unacquainted with the his- tory of her life. She, on the other hand, de- clared she felt an indescribable esteem and rey- erence for him, which would soon be changed into cordial love. She then eppached him, and said, with dignity, “I will take the place of your departed Christina towards your children, her right hand, in which she held a fan, and |in such a manner as to enable me boldly to pre- said, ‘““ What is the will of Providence, is my ! sent them to her at a future day.” will also.” STILLING’S DOMESTIC LIFE. They now separated: Selma rode the same evening to Reichenburg, from whence she in- tended to travel to Creutznach, to her mother’s sister, and there pass the period before her mar- riage. When she was gone, Stilling wrote a letter to her, which was sent after her the fol- lowing day; and then he also travelled back, well pleased and happy, to Rittersburg. When he was again alone, and minutely re- flected upon the whole affair, his many debts recurred to him, and pressed heavily upon his heart; of these he had not mentioned a word to Selma. This was certainly very wrong, and in reality, an unpardonable fault, if that may be ealled a fault, which arises from a moral impos- sibility. Selma knew Stilling only from his writings and from report; she saw him for the first time, on the day she promised him mar- riage; that, which between young people is ealled love, had no place in the matter; the whole affair was determination, consideration, and the result arising from rational reflection. Now if he had said any thing about his debts, she would certainly have drawn back, terror- struck; Stilling felt this fully, but he also felt what the consequences of a discovery of the kind would be when he could no longer with- hold it. He was therefore in a dreadful strife with himself, but found himself too weak to mention the matter. Meanwhile, he received the first letter from her; he was astonished at the mind that dictated it, and looked forwards for future happiness. Liberty of feeling, without affectation—correct- ness and order in her thoughts—well-made and mature resolutions reigned in every line; and every one to whom he confided the letter for perusal, pronounced him happy in the prospect of such a partner. In the mean time, the consent of Madam Von St. Florentin was received; it was com- municated to Stilling, and all was now in order. He therefore travelled to Creutznach to his be- trothed, in order to spend some days with her, and become more intimately acquainted with her. He there learned to know her in reality ; and found how all th@ painful and tedious suf- ferings he had hitherto endured were supera- bundantly rewarded by the everlasting and pa- ternal love of God; but he found it impossible to make any mention of his debts to her, and therefore prayed unceasingly to God, that He would so order the affair as that it might have a favorable termination. Selma’s aunt was also a very worthy and pleasant lady, who became very fond of him, and was glad of this addition to the family. Near this aunt dwelt a merchant of the name of Schmerz, a man of much taste and knowl- edge. This gentleman had read Stilling’s his- tory, he was therefore an object of attention to him; hence he invited him one evening, with Selma and her aunt, to his beautiful garden, well-known to many connoisseurs. It lies on the north-west side of the town, and includes in it what was previously a part of the old town- ditch. To this charming pleasure-ground, Schmerz, as mentioned above, had invited Stilling, Selma, and her aunt, to spend an evening. After they had walked about for some time, taken a view of evéry thing, and it had become dusk, they were conducted into the groito, where they were served with refreshments until it was quite dark. At length Schmerz entered, and said, ‘‘ Friends, 115 come once more into the garden, in order to see how the night beautifies every thing.” All fol- lowed him; Stilling went before, having Schmerz on his left, and Selma on his right; the others followed behind. As they entered the long walk, a sight surprised them with extreme astonish- ment; the urn above, in the poplar-wood, was illuminated with many little lamps, so that the whole wood glittered like green and gold. “Schmerz* had illuminated his um for Still- ing, and near him walked his Salome,t harbin- ger of future and sublime peace !” Beautiful, charming, and affecting thought! After they had all finished their joyful expres- sions of admiration, there commenced behind the urn, in the obscurity of the wood, very af- fecting music, beautifully performed on wind- instruments; it was the charming air from Ze- mira and Azor, which is sung behind the mir- ror; the sky was at the same time overcast with heavy clouds, and it thundered and lightened be- tween. Stilling sobbed and wept; the scene was too powerful for his soul and his heart ; he kissed and embraced first Schmerz and then his Selma, and in fact he overflowed with sensibility. He now discovered something new in his in- tended; she also felt it all, and was affected likewise; but she continued perfectly tranquil ; her sensations were no precipitous mountain- torrent, but a peacefully flowing brook in a meadowy vale. Two days before his departure from Creutz- nach, he was sitting in the hall with Selma and her aunt, when the postman entered, and pre- sented a letter to Selma; she took it, broke it open, read it, and turned pale; she then drew her aunt with her into the parlour, soon came out again, and went upstairs into her chamber. The aunt now came, sat down by Stilling, and informed him that Selma had received a letter from a friend, in which it was stated to her that he was much involved in debt; this had sur- prised her, and she therefore requested him to go upstairs to her immediately and speak with her, in order that she might not withdraw her consent; for there were many worthy men that had the same misfortune, and any thing of this kind ought not to cause a separation. Stilling accordingly went upstairs, with sensations per- fectly like those of a poor culprit who is led up before the judge to receive his sentence. On ‘entering the room, he found her sitting at a little table, leaning her head upon her hand. “Pardon me, my dearest Selma,” he began, “that I have said nothing to you respecting my debts. I could not possibly do so, for I should not then have gained your consent; and I can- not live without you. My debts have not arisen from a love of splendour or extravagance, but from extreme necessity. I can earn much, and am unwearied in my labors. With regularity in housekeeping, they will be liquidated in a few years; and if I should die, no one can make any demand upon you. You must there- fore imagine the. matter to yourself, as if you had yearly a few hundred guilders less income; you Jose nothing further by it; with a thousand guilders, you can meet the house expenses, and the residue 1 will apply to the payment of m debts. However, dear and valued friend, I now leave you at perfect liberty, and if it were to cost me my life, yet am incapable of keeping aA Arc Ade 6 ramen tated tomate dele * Schmerz is the German word for pain. + Salome, from whence Selma is derived, means peace, the kingdom of peace. 116 you to your word, from the moment you repent of it.” So saying, he was silent, and awaited his sentence. She then arose with the utmost inward emo- tion, looked at him with a kind and penetrating expression of countenance, and replied, ‘‘ No, I will not forsake you, Stilling. God has destined me to assist in bearing your burden. I will gladly do so; be encouraged, we shall also overcome this, with the help of God.” How Stilling felt can scarcely be conceived ; he wept, fell upon her neck, and exclaimed, * Angel of God!” They then descended the stairs, hand-in-hand ; Selma’s aunt rejoiced exceedingly at the happy result of this vexatious and dangerous affair, and sweetly comforted both by her own experi- ence. How wisely did Providence again rule Still- ing’s destiny! Do not tell me that prayers are not heard; an earlier discovery would have ru- ined every thing, and a later would probably have occasioned vexation. It was then just the right time ——= > CHAPTER XII. STILLING now travelled back again, quietly and contentedly, to Rittersburg, and made prep- arations for the celebration of his marriage, which was to take place at the house of Se]lma’s aunt, in Creutznach. The space of time which intervened, I will fill up with the history of SELMA’S LIFE. In the middle of the previous century, there lived in France two brothers, both of whom were of an ancient Italian noble family; they were called knights of St. Florentin de Tansor. One of them became a Huguenot, and was therefore obliged to flee, and leave his property behind him; moneyless, he took refuge in the Hessian dominions, where he settled at Ziegen- hain, commenced business, and married a worthy young woman of the middle class. One of his sons, or perhaps his only son, studied jurispru- dence, became a great, active, and upright man, and Syndic in the imperial city of Worms; from whence he was under the painful necessity, when this city was destroyed by the French at the close of the previous century, of emigrating with his wife and many children, and leaving his habita- tion in ashes. He retired to Frankfort-on-the- Maine, where he again became Syndic, counsel- lor to many imperial cities, and a man of emi- nence. Amongst his many sons, there was like- wise an able lawyer, who for a period occupied the place of government-assessor in Marburg, and afterwards accepted the place of chancery- director at Usingen. One of his sons, of the name of Johann Wil- helm, was the father of Selma; he first of all fill- ed the place of counsellor of finance at W—. and was afterwards appointed finance-director in the principality of Rothingen, in Upper Swa- bia. He was aman of great penetration, fiery resolve, rapid accomplishment, and incorrupti- ble integrity; and as he always lived at court, he was, at the same time, a very refined man of the world, and his house was the favorite re- sort of the noblest and the best of men. His HEINRICH STILLING. consort was likewise noble-minded, kind-heart- ed, and very genteel in her manners. This couple had five children, two sons and three daughters, all of whom are still living. The whole five need not my commendations: they are excellent characters. The eldest daugh- ter married a counsellor and magistrate in the principality of U ; the eldest son is advocate in S——; the second son, counsellor of finance in Rothingen; the second daughter is united te a worthy preacher in Franconia; and the young- est child is Selma. The finance-director, Mr. Von F. Florentin, had a moderate income, but he was too consci- entious to accumulate wealth. On his sudden death, therefore, in the year 1776, his widow found that he had left little; she received, in- deed, a pension on which she could subsist, and al] her children were provided for, with the ex- ception of Selma, to whom a variety of offers were made; but she was only in her sixteenth year, and besides this, none of these modes of provision pleased her. She had formerly a very rich and distant re- lation, who in her fiftieth year had married a young cavalier of twenty-seven, and was at that time residing on her estate in Lower Saxony, in a very handsome mansion. The St. Floren- tin family knew, meanwhile, nothing but good of this person; and when the lady, who was at the same time Selma’s godmother, heard of the finance director’s death, she wrote, in the year 1778, to the widow, and requested her to send her Selma to her, promising to provide for her, and make her happy. Madame Von St. Florentin found it almost impossible for her to decide upon sending away her dearly beloved daughter, to a distance of up- wards of seventy German miles; however, as ll her friends and children earnestly urged her to it, she at length consented. Selma kneeled down before her, and the venerable woman gave her her blessing, amidst floods of tears. In Octo- ber of the year 1778, she set off, therefore, under safe convoy, to Lower Saxony, and was in Frankfort just at the time when Stilling passed through it with his wif® and children, on re- moving from Sch nenthal to Rittersburg. After a long and tedious journey, she at length arrived at the mansion of her godmother, a gen- eral’s widow, he having gone over to America, where he died. Here she soon perceived that she was disappointed, for she was ill-treated in a variety of ways. This was a school and a hard trial for the good girl. She was well brought up, and every one had behaved kindly to her; but here no one had any feeling for her talents; it is true, there were people enough that esteem- ed her, but they could only comfort, withcut be- ing able to help her. To this something of a different nature was added: a young cavalier made her serious offers of marriage; these she accepted, the marriage was agreed upon between the families, on both sides, and she was actually betrothed to him. He then set out on a journey, and on this jour- ney, something occurred which withdrew him again from Selma, and the affair came to no- thing. I am silent respecting the true reason of his faithlessness; the great day will develope it. By degrees, the sufferings of the good @nd pi- ous girl rose to their height, and at the same- time she learned that her godmother owed much more than she possessed. She had now no long STILLING’S DOMESTIC LIFE. er any reason for remaining, and determined, therefore, to return to her mother. It would not become me to enter more partic- ularly into the description of her sufferings, and her conduct under them; did I dare to tell all, my readers would be astonished. “But she is still living, and already blushes at that which, as Stilling’s biographer, I must necessarily say. She grew sickly also at the same time; and it appeared as if her sorrow would have ended in a consumption. However, she undertook the journey, after having endured for two years the furnace of afiliction. On reaching Cassel, she stopped at the house of an excellent, pious, and worthy friend, government-counsellor M—— ; here she continued three quarters of a year, du- ring which time she entirely regained her health. She then pursued her journey, and arrived at length at her brother’s at S , where she again resided a considerable time. Here a variety of opportunities presented themselves of providing for herself becomingly; but none of them suited her; for her exalted ideas of virtue, conjugal af- fection, and of extending her sphere of action, she feared, would be all frustrated by these offers; and she preferred remaining with her mother. She now often visited Madame Von la Roche, and she was also present when it was mention- ed to that venerable lady that Stilling had made fruitless offers of marriage there; Selma testified her repugnance at this report, and was surprised when she heard that Stilling resided in the neigh- bourhood. The idea now occurred ta Madame Von la Roche, that Selma would be suitable for Stilling; she was therefore silent, and wrote the first letter to him, to which he immediately re- plied. When this answer was received, Selma was at Reichenberg; Sophia therefore handed Sulling’s determination to advocate P ’S lady, the mutual friend of both. The latter hast= ened directly to Reichenberg, and found her friend, in the morning, still in bed; her eyes were wet with tears, for it was her birthday, and sya bad been praying and rendering thanks to od. The advocate’s lady presented her Stilling’s letter, together with an epistle from Sophia, in which she gave her maternal advice. Selma did not reject this opportunity, but permitted Stilling to come. My readers know the rest. — CHAPTER XIII. Every thing being at length duly arranged, Stilling set off for Creutznach, on the 14th of August, 1782, in order to be married to his Sel- ma. On his arrival he observed the first mani- festation of tenderness in her; she now began not merely to esteem him, but she also really loved him. The day following, being the 16th, the marriage was solemnized in her aunt’s house, in the presence of a few friends, by the Rev. Mr. W——, inspector of the district, who was a friend of Stilling, and in other respects an excel- lent man. The address which he gave on this occasion is inserted in the printed collection of his sermons; notwithstanding which it is also subjoined here, as in its proper place. It is verbatim as follows: “There are many enjoyments with which Eternal Wisdom has strewed the path of that man’s life who possesses a mind and feelings for the joys of virtue. Now if we weigh all 117 these enjoyments one against the other, and let heart and soul decide which of them deserve the preference, they will immediately and certainly pronounce in favor of those in which the sweet and noble social feelings, which the Creator has implanted in our souls towards our fellow-crea- tures, find satisfaction. With the possession of a friend to whom we may open our whole heart, and in whose bosom we can deposit our most secret cares, as in an inviolable sanctuary—who participates in every happy event; sympathises with our sorrows; incites us by his example to noble and virtuous deeds; by kind admonitions recalls us from the path of error and of stum- bling; assists us in prosperous seasons with Sage advice; and wipes away our tears in the season of suffering—without such a friend, what would be our life? And yet the enjoyment of the most perfect friendship must yield to that which the nuptial union with a virtuous woman affords to a virtuous man. “Since I am to have the happiness this day of confirming so blissful a bond, by the sacred seal of religion, permit me, my honoured audi- tors, before I lay my hands on the folded hands of my most worthy friend and the future amia- ble partner of his life, to detain you with a short description of the pure enjoyments of conjugal and gentle friendship, which is sanctified by the religious feelings and noble love of virtue of the couple who are thus united. “ Excellent, and rich in blissful and delightful feelings, is the bond which the pious and noble- minded youth establishes with the lovely com- panion of his blooming years. In the midst of the bustle of a world, which meets together from childish vanity, and separates again from base self-interest, the feeling youth discovers a beau- teous soul, which invites him, by the irresistible attractions of a noble sympathy, to the most in- ward union, and sweetest brotherly love. A like-disposed heart, full of uncorrupted natural feeling ; a like inclination for what is beautiful, and good, and noble, and great, brings them to- gether; they behold each other, and friendly confidence glows upon their countenances; they converse with each other, and their thoughts har- monize; their hearts open to each other, and one soul attracts the other; they already know each other, and, hand in hand, vow to love each other eternally. But’David and Jonathan love in a world in which connections, which must be holy and venerable to us, often dissolve the sweetest bonds of friendship; often occasion joylessness, or even painful feelings. Jonathan has estab- lished the bond of sacred friendship with the art- less son of Jesse, and the youth is then more to him thana brother; for he had loved him, as the sacred historian says, as his own soul. Happy Jonathan !—couldst thou but impart to thy king and father only a small part of thy tender esti- mation for the favourite of thy heart! But no; the wrath of Saul persecuted the innocent Da- vid; and the gentle and virtuous heart of the son and friend strives in vain to combine the sa- cred duties of filial love with the duties of the most faithful and tender friendship. Who can read the history of the two noble-minded youths, and see them embrace and weep over each oth- er, at the stone Asel, in the bitter parting hour, and not shed tears with them ?7—and how often is this the lot of the most dignified and magnan- imous souls! Although the bond of their friend- ship may be founded upon the purest and most Virtuous inclinations, they cannot remove the 118 severe restraint of connections which are sacred to every good and upright human soul. The' eymmand of a father; conflicting family views ; nay, sometimes, the same wishes, which, though just on the part of every one, can only be fulfill- ed with respect to one, often divide, in this world of imperfection, the most tender friendly allian- ces, or rend the heart, in order to avoid an anx- ious separation. “Not so with the friendship which is estab- lished between noble souls, by the holy and in- violable bond of matrimony; its genial enjoy- ments are not subjected to such assaults. Death alone can dissolve the bond which the flame of the tenderest love has established, and which solemn vows at the holy altar of religion have sealed. The circumstances and inientions, the wishes and efforts, of the lover and the beloved are one and the same; the relationship of the husband is the relationship of the wife ; his hon- or her honor; his property her property. “The guileless heart of the pious and selected spouse, full of tender and noble emotions, finds in the man that loves God and virtue a safe- guard on the journey of life; a faithful adviser in perplexing circumstances; a courageous de- fender in dangers; a magnanimous friend, who continues faithful even unto death. What he accomplishes for the good of the world, of his country, and his family, has all a beneficial ef- fect upon the happiness and the joy of the wom- an to whom he has presented his band and his heart. Wearied with the labours of the day, he hastens to the sweet companion of his life; im- parts to her the experience and knowledge he has collected; seeks to develope every shooting blossom of her mind, and prevent every timid wish of her affectionate heart; willingly forgets the gnawing cares of his vocation, the ingrati- tude of the world, and the bitter hindrances which every honest man meets with in the path of incorruptible integrity, in order to live entire- ly for her happiness; to give himself wholly to her, who, for his sake, has left father and moth- er, and friends, and companions; and who, adorned with every flower, has cast herself into the arms of a single individual, who is all to her heart. How could he be faithless to her, even “in idea—the man that feels the greatness of the offering she has presented to..him, and who knows and believes that there is a rewarder in heaven? And what a valuable treasure he has found in her, who loves God and virtue! Her gentle, heart-constraining society sweetens ev- ery hour of his life; her tender sympathy in his fate alleviates his every pain, and gives him doubly to feel each enjoyment of life; her kind discourse translates him often into the blissful feelings of a better world, when his eye, troubled by the miseries of this earthly state, needs the most to be directed upwards. Gladly does she renounce the deceitful glitter of transient amuse- ments, in order, unembittered, to enjoy quiet, do- mestic happiness—the only happiness which is worthy of being sought and found by noble souls; and knows no joy of which he does not partake who is the choice of her heart. To lease him; to take charge of the affairs of his ouse; by good example and love of order, and by meekness and kindness to maintain that do- minion of love over children, and inmates and domestics, which is the most difficult duty and the noblest embellishment of her sex ; to season her husbands hours of recreation with pleasure ; by harmless mirth to cheer his brow, when man- HEINRICH STILLING. ly sternness rests upon it; or by gentle words te soothe his cares, when adverse results of well meant intentions disturb him—this is the endeav- or of the day, and this the nightly meditation of the spouse who loves God and virtue. “ Such a wife is the most valuable gift of heav- en; such a husband, the blest blessing where- with Eternal Love rewards a pious and faithful heart. If He who dwells in heaven blesses such. a oo is with a progeny, what ravishing pros- pects, what pure delight, what felicity on earth, to see themselves live anew in well-disposed, beloved children; to bring up useful citizens of earth, and blessed inhabitants of heaven; to see a powerful support growing up for helpless old age; a sensible comfort in their infirmities! O God! what a rich recompense for all the toil, and labour, and care, which we expend on edu- eation and attention to the inheritors of our names and property ; and when, as we may hope, our wishes are fulfilled, of our virtues also! What a goodly lot, to be permitted to hear the sweet names of father and mother! “All happiness to you, my estimable friend, who to-day enjoy the felicity of being eternally united with such a consort! I know her noble- minded and pious heart, which is open to and warm for every friendly feeling. Ido not need to place before your eyes the duties which such a union imposes upon you; you have practised them; you have thereby become happy; you will become so again; and if the spirits of the blessed Jearn the fate of their mortal friends, and participate in it, the departed saint that is in heaven will look down with pure and indescri- bable joy on this new union, upon which you this day enter with the chosen one of your heart. “ Happiness and the blessing of Gud be upon you, amiable and virgin bride! The friend of your heart is the husband of your choice, and worthy of your whole esteem and of your ten- derest affection. You may boldly cast yourself into his outstretched arms; expect, without ap- prehension, from him, what the most perfect friendship, nuptial love, and inviolable fidelity can give. He that fears God, fulfils vows, and keeps covenant even unto death; to him that has passed through rough and solitary paths, warm. and heart-felt friendship is like a cordial to the wanderer, who, after roaming through barren degerts, finds a shady spring; he approaches it with the most fervent gratitude, and every drop of water which pours refreshment into his lan- guishing heart is sacred to him. “QO God, thou hearest our prayer; do thou bless those whom thy hand has joined together, and bless them with all the felicity of a pure love, which death cannot destroy! Amen!” Hereupon followed the priestly benediction ; Stilling’s and Selma’s hearts and hands were inseparably united, and the Almighty gave his gracious blessing to this union. Mr. Schmerz took much interest in this joyful event; he pro- vided the marriage-feast, and entertained the newly-married couple, with their friends who were present, both to dinner and supper. Schmerz also wished to celebrate the day fol- lowing by an excursion into the Rheingau; two coaches were therefore ordered, in one of which Madame Schmerz, the aunt, and Selma, rode, and in the other, Mr. Schmerz, Mr. W——, the Inspector, and Stilling. The way led from Creutznach to Bingen, from whence they cross- ed the Rhine, thence to Geisenheim, to view the baronial residence of Ostein; and from thence, “STILLING’S DOMESTIC LIFE. over against Bingen to Niederwald, which also belongs to the Count of Ostein, and is laid out in the manner of an English park. The whole journey was enchanting; objects every where presented themselves which afforded peculiar food for the eye of a mind susceptible of the beauties of nature and of art; the whole com- pany was consequently extremely well pleased. They dined in the midst of the Niederwaid, at a forester’s house; and after dinner, the after- noon was spent in walking, while the various beautiful scenes, prospects, and objects, refresh- ed the eye and the heart. ‘Towards five o’clock, they commenced their return; the coaches with the ladies drove down the hill, and the gentle- men went on foot. The latter now resolved to stop at Riidesheim, and drink another bottle of the excellent wine of that place, to cement their friendship; meanwhile, the ladies were to cross the river at the ferry, and wait at Bingen till they should follow them in a boat. This was accordingly done; but meanwhile a storm arose, the waves were high, and it already began to be dark, particularly as the sky was covered with black clouds. They took their seats in the boat, notwithstanding, and passed over the rushing waves, in the midst of the roaring of the storm; and with much danger and anxiety arrived safely at the other side. All three now stood on the shore at Bingen to receive their beloved friends, who were how- ever still waiting with their coach on the oppo- site shore. At length they drove into the ferry, and the ferry-boat pushed off. But what were their feelings, when the ferry-boat, instead of coming across, went down the river! The stream raged, and scarcely half-a-quarter of a league further down, the waters roared in the Bingen-loch like distant thunder; the ferry-boat was drifting towards this dangerous place; and all this when it was growing dark. Schmerz, W-—, and Stilling stood there, as if lamed hand and foot; they looked like poor criminals that had just received their sentence ; all Bingen ran together—all was in an uproar—and some sail- ors put off in a large boat after the unfortunate ople. Meanwhile, the ferry-boat with the coach: con- tinued to drift further down; the boat followed them, and at length neither of them could be seen ; besides all this, it grew ever darker and more dismaying. » Stilling stood as before the judgment-seat of the Almighty; he could neither pray, nor think; his eyes gazed fixedly between the lofiy mount- ains towards the Bingen-loch; he felt as though he stood up to the neck in burning sand; his Selma, that excellent gift of God, was lost to him; the horrible ery of the crowd resounded in his deafened ears on all sides, ‘‘ The poor people are lost! God be gracious to them!” ©! what intense misery! and this lasted two hours. At length, a young man, a clergyman, of the name of Gentli, pressed through the people to the three men. He placed himself with a cheer- ing expression of countenance before them, | pressed their hands, and said, “‘ Be satisfied, dear Sirs! be not apprehensive; people are not so easily lost. Be not disturbed by the foolish talk of the mob; most probably, the ladies are al- ready over. Come, we will go along the shore ‘on this side; I will show you the way!” This was like a cool dew on their burning hearts; they followed his advice, and he conducted them by the arm down the meadow, and all his words were words of comfort and peace. 119 As they were walking towards the Mouse tower, having their eyes constantly fixed on the stream, they heard opposite them, on the left hand, a rattling and rushing, as if a coach were driving between the hedges; all four looked thither, but it was too dark to see any thing. Stilling therefore called aloud, and Seima an- swered, ‘“‘ We are safe !” Klopstock’s “‘ Come hither, Abaddona, to thy Redeemer !” and these words, ‘‘ We are safe !” produced one and the same effect. Schmerz, -W—, and Stiiling fell upon the neck of the good Catholic priest, just as if he himself had been their deliverer, and he rejoiced with them as a brother. O thou messenger of peace, thou real evangelist, eternal blessings be upon thee! All three now ran to the coach; Stilling out- stripped them, and met on the way his Selma, who went before the others on foot. He was astonished to find her quite composed, undis- turbed, and without any sign of having suffered from fear; he could not comprehend this, and asked her respecting this singular phenomenon ; she replied, with a tender and smiling counte- nance, “J thought, God does all things well; if i were his will to tear me from you again, He must have a good object in view: therefore his will be done !” They now again betook themselves to their carriages, and drove quietly, and safely, in the night-time, to Cruetznach. The cause of all this terror and grief was merely the drunkenness of the ferry people, who were so intoxicated that they were unable to stand, much less guide the ferry-boat. The sail- ors, who were sent off with the boat, were the sole cause of their deliverance; they found the ferry close by the Bingen-loch, fastened their boat to it, and with dreadful toil and labour row- ed it across above the rocks and the Mouse tow- er. As a punishment, the ferry-men were dis- placed, and imprisoned on bread and water; all which they well desérved. It is the plan of Providence, in all its dealings, by which it leads him who lets himself be led by it to the great and glorious aim, that when be- stowing some great felicity upon him, if he cleave passionately to it, it threatens in a pow- erful manner to take it from him again, solely in order entirely to mortify this sensual attach- ment, which is so extremely opposed to all moral perfection and to activity for the good of mankind. It is true what the mystics say in this case, that “ God seeks an undivided heart; it may love and value the gift, but on no account more highly than the Giver.” Stilling has always found it thus; as every attentive reader, who is experienced in the ways of God, will easily perceive. A few days after, Stilling, with his Selma, ac- companied by her aunt, set out for Rittersburg. They were met half-way by the students of that place, who testified their joy and the interest they took, by presenting a poem, and by music, and a ball. Thus began a new period of his domestic life. | Selma sent immediately for the two children | from Zweibriicken, and with extreme care un- | dertook their much-neglected education. At the | Same time, she represented to Stilling the neces- | sity of her having possession of the cash; for she said, “My dear husband, your whole soul | is engaged in its important vocation, in its high destiny; domestic arrangements, and domes- _tic cares and expenses, whether great or small, | are beneath vour attention; pursue your course / / 120 HEINRICH without interruption, and henceforth leave to me income and expenditure. Commit both debts and housekeeping to my management, and let me provide; you will find your account in so doing.” Stilling most joyfully assented, and soon saw the happy result; his children, his furniture, his table, were all becomingly and agreeably attended to, so that every one was gratified. Every friend was welcome to his ta- ble, but never sumptuously treated; his house was the refuge of the worthiest young men; many a one was thus preserved from ruin, and others reclaimed from going astray ; but all this was managed with such decorum and dignity, that even the most poisonous-tongued calumni- ator did not venture to spread any unbecoming report. With all this, the money was never entire] expended; there was always something in hand, and comparatively, even superfluity. Selmaalso formed a plan for liquidating the debts, the in- terest upon which was to be regularly paid, and the Rittersburg debts discharged first. This lat- ter was accomplished in less than three years, and money was then sent to Schonenthal, by which the creditors were rendcred more tranquil ; in a word, Stilling’s tedious and painful suffer- ings had an end. And if, occasionally, tormenting letters still arrived, Selma answered them herself, and that in such a manner as must necessarily have im- parted confidence and satisfaction to every one who was in any degree rational. However, circumstances gradually occurred which greatly limited Stilling’s sphere of action. His activity and the number of his writings cre- ated envy; there were those who sought, as much as possible, to envelope him in obscurity, and to place him in a wrong light; he did much for the genera! good, but it was not observed ; on the contrary, his course was not always deemed right; and when the court or other po- litical bodies were desirous of bestowing a rec- ompense upon him, it was prevented. Add to this, Stilling wished to be able to complete and teach his whole system; but this was impossible in the existing order of things, for his colleagues Pec aes in the system of tuition. Finally, is income was too small to enable him to make provision for his family ; and this had be- come the chief object of his attention, since his debts no longer oppressed him. All this excited in him the determination to accept a more ad- vantageous vocation, as soon as Providence should put it in his power. However, he was inwardly cheerful and happy; for all this was not suffering, but merely a limiting of circum- stances. At length, in the year 1784, the Elector re- solved to remove the academy of Political Econ- omy from Rittersberg to Heidelberg, and unite it with the ancient university there. Stilling’s situation was thereby improved, inasmuch as his sphere of operation was more extensive, and his income in some measure increased; but there was still no possibility of making provis- ion for his family, and envy now became still stronger. He found indeed many powerful friends there; and he gained the affections of the public because he continued gratuitously to practise as an oculist, with’ much success. However, he was obliged to submit to much that was painful and vexatious. What con- soled him the most, was the universal love of the whole university and its officers of all the STILLING students, and the town; besides which, his fide.- ity and diligence, notwithstanding every obsta- cle, penetrated at length to the ears of the Elec- tor, who, without his knowledge, and entirely gratuitously, sent him the patent of Electoral Aulic Counsellor, and assured him of his favor. About this time, Mr. Friedenberg died of wa- ter on the chest. Selma had previously con- vinced him, by a very affecting letter, of Still- ing’s integrity, and of the certain payment of his debts, and thus he died in peace, and as a Christian; for this he was, in the full sense of the word. Peace be with his ashes! Stilling was also accepted as a regular mem- ber of the German Society in Manheim; in con- sequence of which he travelled thither once ey- ery fortnight, with his friend Counsellor Mieg. These excursions were always a very pleasing recreation, and he felt happy in the circle of so many estimable men. His acquaintance with excellent characters also became more exten- sive and useful. To this, another circumstance greatly contributed. In the year 1786, the University of Heidelberg celebrated the jubilee of its fourth centenary, with great pomp, and amidst the concourse of a great multitude of people from far and near. The solemn jubilee address in the name and on the part of the Academy of Civil and Political Economy, was committed to Stilling; he there- fore prepared it considerately and calmly, and experienced an effect of which there are few par- allel instances, but to which circumstances con- tributed not a little, and, perhaps, the chief part. All the other addresses were given in the great hall of the university, in Latin; besides which, it was bitterly cold, and all the auditory were weary of the endless Latin speeches, and taking degrees. When it came to Stilling’s turn, the whole auditory were conducted into the hall of the statistical academy, which was a beautiful one, and as it was evening, was lighted up and warmed. Stilling stepped forth, and made an oration in German, with his wonted cheerful- ness. The result was unexpected; tears began to flow—a whisper ran through the assembly— and at length they began to clap, and exclaim, “ Bravo!” so that he was obliged to cease until the noise was over. This was repeated several times; and when he descended from the rostrum, the representative of the Elector, the Minister Von Oberndorf, thanked him very expressively ; after which the grandees of the Palatinate, in ° their stars and orders, approached to embrace and salute him, which was also subsequently done by the principal deputies of the imperial cities and universities. It may easily be con- ceived what Stilling felt on this occasion. God was with him, and granted him a drop of well+ earned, honorable enjoyment, which had been so long unreasonably withheld from him. How- ever, he was fully conscious in all this, how little he had contributed towards deserving this honor. His talent was the gift of God; that he had been enabled duly to cultivate it, was the consequence of Divine providence; and that the present effect was so astonishing, was chiefly the result of circumstances, To God alone be the glory! ~ From this time, Stilling enjoyed the love and esteem of all the higher ranks of the Palatinate in an abundant measure; and it was just at this time also, that Providence began to prepare the station for him for which it had intended, during the last fourteen years, by tedious and painfud sufferings, to lead and form him. STILLING’S DOMESTIC LIFE. The Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel, from the time he first assumed the reins of government, had taken the beneficent resolution of placing the University of Marburg in a better condition; and to this end had removed thither those cele- brated men, Von Selchow, Baldinger, and oth- ers. He now also wished to see the Economi- cal department filled, and for this purpose sey- eral learned men were proposed to him; but cir- cumstances stood in the way, which hindered their coming. At length, in the year 1786, the late Mr. Leske of Leipsic received the appoint- ment, and he proceeded thither, but suffered a dangerous fall on the journey, so that he died a week after his arrival in Marburg. Now, though Stilling had been often spoken of, yet persons of consequence opposed his appointment; because they believed a man who had written so many novels was scarcely suitable for such a Station. But no man can withstand the plan of Provi- dence. Stilling, in consequence of a rescript from the Landgrave, was formally and regular- ly appointed by the University of Marburg, pub- lic and ordinary Professor of the Economical, Financial, and Statistical sciences, with a fixed income of 1200 dollars sterling, or 2130 guilders current money, and a respectable provision for his wife in case of his death. Thanks, ardent and heartfelt thanks to Will- iam the Ninth, the prince of the noble and wor- thy Hessians. He recognized Stilling’s honest intentions and his impulse to be useful, and this was the cause of his being appointed. This he afterwards testified to him, when he was favor- ed with an audience; he was requested to relate his history, with which the Landgrave was affect- ed and pleased. He himself thanked God for having made use of him, as an instrument, to lay the foundation of Stilling’s good fortune; and promised, at the same time, constantly to support him, and to manifest paternal fidelity to him and his family. Stilling accepted this appointment with the most heartfelt thankfulness to his wise and heav- enly Guide, and now saw all his wishes fulfill- ed; for he could now fill up and teach his whole system, and in his domestic affairs and manner of life, could also lay up something for his chil- dren, and consequently make them happy. At that time he had only three children; the daugh- ter and son by the first marriage were growing up: the daughter he sent for a year to the rela- tives of her late mother; but the son was boarded with a very worthy preacher, in the neighbour- hood of Heilbronn. Selma had had three chil- dren, but an infant son and daughter had already died in Heidelberg; the youngest child, a girl of a year old, he therefore took with him to Marburg. He set out for this his place of destination, at Easter, 1787, with his wife and child. At Frank- fort, he again visited his old and faithful friend Kraft, who heartily rejoiced at the admirable re- sult of his painful trials, and thanked God with him. At Marburg he was received in a very cordial and friendly manner by all the members of the university ; it seemed to him as if he were enter- ing his native land, and coming amongst his friends and acquaintances. Even those who had labored against him became his best friends, as soon as they learned to know him, for their in- tentions were pure and good. After having courageously entered upon his office, confiding in the Divine assistance, and duly established himself, his heart impelled him Q 121 to see once more his aged father, Wilhelm Still- ing. ‘The journey was not a great or difficult one for the venerable old man, for Stilling’s na- tive province and birth-place is only a few miles from Marburg; he wrote to him, therefore, and invited him to come to him, because he himself had not time to undertake the journey. The good old man consented with joy; and Stilling, therefore, made preparations for fetching him with a horse, all which was provided by the son of Johann Stilling, the mine-surveyor of Dillen- burg. He would gladly also have seen his uncle Jo- hann Stilling. But the great Father of men had called him away a year before from his daily labor, and removed him to a more extensive sphere of action. In his latter years, he had be- come surveyor-in-chief of the mines, and had contributed much to the prosperity of his coun- try. His whole life was an unceasing activity for the good of mankind, and an ardent striving after the discovery of new truths. His influence on the life, manners, and conduct of his neigh- bours was so great and so powerful, that his whole outward manner of life and conduct is di- vided amongst the peasants of his village; the one laughs like him, the other has assumed his gait, a third his favorite expressions, &c. His spirit remains distributed amongst his friends, and renders him immortal, even with respect to this world; his memory also, as a servant of the state, is blessed; for his establishments and in- stitutions will afford food and refreshment to the poor in after-times, when Johann Stilling’s bones are become dust. Rest sweetly, thou worthy son of Eberhard Stilling! thou hast done honor to him, the pious patriarch; and now, in his exal- tation, he will rejoice over his son, conduct him before the Redeemer’s throne, and render thanks unto Him. In the summer of the year 1787, on a fine clear afternoon, as Stilling was upon the rostrum, and lecturing on Technology, some of the young gen- tlemen who were studying there all at once en- tered the lecture-room. One of them exclaimed aloud, “ Your father is come; all is now at an end here!” Stilling was mute; a variety of feel- ings assailed his heart; he tottered down the steps, accompanied by his whole auditory. At the house-door below, Selma had welcom- ed her good father-in-law with tears; had led him and his attendant, the mine-surveyor, into the parlour, and was gone to fetch her child; du- ring which time Stilling entered with his reti- nue. Immediately opposite the door stood the mine-surveyor, and at the side, to the left, Wil- helm Stilling; he held his hat in his hand; stood bent with age; and in his venerable visage, time, and a variety of afflictions, had graven many and deep furrows. Timid, and with a very pe- culiar shamefacedness, which leaves no one un- affected, he looked askant in the face of his son as he approached. The latter stept up to him with the most heartfelt emotion; belHind him stood his numerous auditory, and every one smi- led with extreme and sympathetic satisfaction. Father and son first of all looked fixedly at each other for some moments, and then fell into each other’s embrace, with a mixture of sobbing and weeping. After this, they stood again and look- ed at each other. Slilling. —“ Father, you have aged very much in the Jast thirteen years.” Wilhelm.—* So have you also, my son.” Stilling —“ Not ‘you,’ my venerable father! of 122 HEINRICH but thow! Iam yourson, and am proud of being so. Your prayers, and your mode of educating me, have made me the man I am now become; without you, this would not have been the case.” Wilhelm. Well, well, let it be so. God has done it. His name be praised !” Stilling.—“ It seems to me as if I were stand- ing before my grandfather; you are become very like him, dear father!” Wilhelm.— Like in body and soul. I feel the inward peace which he possessed ; and as he act- ed, I seek also to act.” Stilling.—* Ah, how hard and stiff your hands are! does it then go hard with you?” He smiled like father Stilling, and said, ‘Iam a peasant, and born to labor; that is my yoca- tion; do not let that trouble thee, my son! it is difficult for me to earn my bread, but yet I have no want.” He now cordially welcomed the mine-survey- or, on which Selma entered with her little daugh- ter; the old man took it by the hand, and said, with emotion, ‘‘ The Almighty bless thee, my child!” Selma sat down, contemplated the old man, and shed gentle tears. The assembly now broke up; the students took their leave; and the Marburg friends began to visit Stilling’s father. As much honor was done him as if he had been a person of rank. God will reward them for their noble-mindedness; it is worthy of their hearts, Wilhelm resided for some days with his son, and frequently said, ‘‘ This season has been a foretaste of heaven to me.” Pleased and much affected, he then returned with his attendant. Stilling, therefore, now lives in Marburg, per- ectly happy and useful. His marriage-state is daily a source of the most sublime delight that can be conceived on earth; for Selma loves him with her whole soul, above every thing in the world; her whole heart incessantly inclines to- wards him; and as his many and long-continued sufferings have made him timid, so that he is al- ways apprehensive of something without know- ing what, her whole endeavours are directed to cheer him, and to wipe away the tears from his eyes which so easily flow, because their courses and floodgates have become so wide and fluent. She possesses what is called good and agreeable manners, without loving or seeking much socie- ty; they have therefore been formed by the com- pany she kept, and rendered pleasing also to per- sons of rank. ‘Towards the children by the first marriage she is every thing that Stilling can wish; she is wholly mother and friend. 1 do not wish to say more of the noble-minded woman; she has read all that precedes, and reproved me for having praised her; however, I owe more to her and my readers, to the praise of God; I have therefore concealed from her what I have just said, and what follows. She is rather short, and stifly formed; has a pleasing and intelligent wg ig and from her blue eyes and smi- ling looks a stream of benevolence and philan- thropy pours forth towards every noble-minded individual. In all her affairs, even in those which are not directly feminine, she has a calm and penetrating look, and always a mature and deciding judgment, so that her husband often ad- vises with her; and when his rapid and active spirit is partial, he follows her, and always fares well in so doing. Her religious views are en- lightened, and she is warm in her love to God, to her Redeemer, and to man. Sparing as she is, she is equally generous and benevolent. where STILLING. it is requisite. Her modesty is peculiar; she seeks always to be dependant on her husband, and is so even when he follows her advice; she never seels to shine, and yet she pleases wher- ever she Appears; every worthy character feels happy in her society. I could say still more; but I set bounds to my pen. “ Whom God loves, he gives such a wife,” says Gotz Vcn Berlich- ingen of his Maria, and Stilling says the same of his Selma. Besides all this, his income is large, and all care about his maintenance is entirely vanished. Of his usefulness in his vocation it is not the place to speak here; the man of integrity and the Christian labors incessantly, commits the success of it to God, and is silent. He continues to operate for the cataract, at Marburg also, gratuitously, and with much suc- cess. More than a hundred blind people, prin- cipally of the poor and laboring class, have al- ready received their sight through him, with God’s help, and with it the means of again earn- ing their bread. How many a delightful hour does this easy and beneficial aid occasion him; when, after the operation, or at their departure, those who have bcen so long blind press his hands, and direct him for a recompense to the excecd- ingly rich inheritance of the future world! For ever blessed be the woman who formerly con- strained him to try this beneficial mode of cure! without it, he would not have been so efficient an instrument in the hand of the Father of the poor and the blind. Ever blessed be also the memory of the venerable Molitor! May his spirit enjoy, in the brilliant plains of the paradise of God, all the superabundant felicity of the friend of man, for having instructed Stilling as an oc- ulist, and laid the first masterly hand on him. Young man, thou who readest this, watch over every germ of benevolence and philanthropy that springs forth in thy soul; cherish it with su- preme care, and nourish it up to a tree of life that bears twelve manner of fruits. If foresight destines thee to a useful vocation, pursue it; but if some other impulse awake beside, or if Providence unfold a prospect to thee, where, without injuring thy peculiar vocation, theu canst disseminate seeds of blessedness, then neglect it not; let it cost thee toil, and arduous labour, if needful ; for nothing conducts us more immediately nearer to God than beneficence. But beware of the false activity which so greatly prevails in the present age, and which I am wont to call bustling affectation. The slave of sensuality, the voluptuary, covers filthiness with the whitewash of philanthropy; he wishes to do good in all directions, but knows not what is good; he often assists a poor good-for-nothing to gain a situation, where he does amazing in- jury, and works where he ought not to work. In this manner acts also the proud priest of his own reason, who, notwithstanding, makes dread- ful mistakes by his childish sophistry in the vale of shadows and ignes fatui; he seeks to be an autocrat in the moral creation, lays unhewn or even mouldering stones in the building, in the improper place, and plasters up chasms and holes with untempered mortar. Young man, first seek a renewed heart, and let thy understanding be enlightened by the heavenly light of truth! Be pure in heart, and thou shalt see God; and when thou beholdest the source of light, thou wilt also discover the strait and narrow way that leadeth unto life; then pray daily to God, that he may give thee STILLINGS YEARS OF TUITION. opportunities of doing good ; and if such present themselves, seize them with avidity ; be of good courage, God will assist thee; and when thou hast succeeded in a worthy action, thank God fervently in thy closet, and be silent! Before I conclude, I must cast something off _my heart that oppresses me. It is difficult to write the history of living persons; the indi- vidual commits faults, sins, weaknesses, and follies, which cannot be revealed to the public ; hence the hero of the tale appears better than he is; just as little can all the good be told that he does, lest he be deprived of his gracious reward. However, I am not writing Stilling’s whole life and conduct, but the history of Providence in its guidance of him. The great Judge willeventu- ally lay his faults in the one, and his little good in the other golden scale of the sanctuary. He is altogether an unprofitable servant; but thy eternal love, O Thou Most Merciful! as mani- fested in the gift of thy beloved Son, will abun- dantly supply all his need. STILLING’S HYMN OF PRAISE. [Imitated from Psalm cxviii-] BLESSED be the Lord! His eye benignant beams, And from his face divine compassion streams ; Ilis genial breath unfolds the blooming rose ; He gives the troubled spirit sweet repose. Ye saints of his, approach, and praise his grace, Holy and good through everlasting days ; Servants of God, rejoice, and bless the Lord, And tread the path prescribed you in his word! Let all that love Him to his throne ascend, And offer grateful praises without end ; Ascend, ye righteous, who true virtue love And let your songs resound to God above. My path was steep, in twilight and in shade, And lightnings flash’d o’er my devoted head, Sorrows, on every hand, my soul did wound, But still my prayer to Thee admittance found ; And thou did’st hear— did’st answer my request, And bring my suffering heart to peaceful rest ; Didst let me see sublime and glorious aid, And soothed the grief which on my vitals prey’d. The Lord is with me ! who can now oppose ? Or who disturb my inward, calm repose ? E’en though new sorrows in my path appear, I fear them now no more—the Lord is here! The Lord is ever near to strengthen and sustain ; He can the rage of every foe restrain. Of what avails the trust in human aid, So oft frustrated, and so ill repaid? The Lord is good ; his word must be believed ; Who trusts in him shall never be deceived. 123 How often is the word of princes broke ! The Prince of princes does whate’er He spoke Troubles assail’d me, like the busy swarm ; Fiercely they buzz’d around to do me harm ; E’eu as Jehovah’s host they sharply fought, And made the arduous conquest dearly bought, As smoking thorns around and upwards dart, Causing the brightest eye to feel the smart, And, hissing, in the heat consume away, Till root and branch fall to the flames a prey: So pierced the purging fire through all my frame, Till chaff and stubble disappear’d in flame ; Down to the dust sank my dejected eye, Or upwards look’d, for succour from on high. But soon Jehovah’s breath these foes repell’d, And graciously the raging flame dispell’d ; With mighty hand He shewed his power to save, And drew me forth, renew’d as from the grave. God is my strength, my succour and my song! Ye saints, your hallelujah’s loud prolong! From earth to heaven your glorious anthems raise, Whilst suns, and spheres, and seraphs sound his praise. The Lord’s right hand the victory retains, And, highly lifted up, its power maintains ; Jehovah’s hand o’ercomes: and though I fall, I rise again when on his name I call. I shall not die, but live, long to declare How great and marvellous his mercies are ; Although He chasten, yet his strength prepares Me for his service in succeeding years. Unfold the golden gates, that I may bring A warm and contrite heart to heaven’s great King. And at the golden altar sing his praise, Who all my woes with happiness repays! Blessed be the Lord, who brings the lofty low, _ And makes my towering spirit humbly bow ; Abases, softens, and with kindness sways, To fit me for his service and his praise. The stone by men for building thought unfit, Too tender, or too hard, no place would fit ; Yet still the master-builder form’d and hew’d, And shaped the stone out of the mass so rude. Twas God’s own work, and wondrous in our eyes ! His people view it now. with glad surprise. This is the joyful day, when we behold How every hair upon our heads is told. O Lord, help still! and further grant success, And on my soul thy image deep impress! Blessed is the man that comes to praise thy name ; _ Who does thy will shall ne’er be put to shame. God is our light! come and adorn his house, And at his holy altar pay your vows ; Let harp and tabret to his honour sound, _ Faithful, and kind, and true for ever found! Thou art my God! and I thy goodness praise, Which wondrously hath led me all my days. Thou art my God! when I thy grace review, I pav the thanks which justly are thy due. Hallelujah ! HEINRICH STILLING’S YEARS OF TUITION. CHAPTER XIV. Dear readers and friends of Stilling, you may take the title, ‘“‘ Heinrich Stilling’s Years of Tui- tion,’ in whatever sense you please. He had been hitherto a teacher himself, and had served in every gradation; he began as village-school- master at Zellberg, and ended as professor at Marburg. But he was also a pupil or appren- tice in the work-shop of the chief Master ; whether he will become journeyman or no, will soon be seen :—further than this, he will cer- tainly not advance, because we have ail only one master, and can have only one. Stilling now firmly believed that the profes- sorship of civil and political economy was the vocation for which he had been preparing from where he was to live and labour till his end. This conviction afforded him inward tranquil- lity ; and he strove, in his official situation, to do every thing which was in the power of man to do. He wrote his large and copious Manual of Civil and Political Science, his Science of | Finance, the Camerale Practicum, the Princi- ples of Political Economy, Heinrich Stilling’s Domestic Life, and many other little treatises and pamphlets, during which he continued, un- interruptedly, his ophthalmic practice. He daily read lectures for four and sometimes five hours together, and his correspondence became more and more extensive ; so that he was obliged to labour with all his might, in order to keep his large and difficult sphere of action in motion; much, however, was rendered easy to him by his cradle, and that Marburg was the place | his residing at Marburg. 124 HEINRICH STILLING. This ancient city, celebrated of old as being | the spring of 1788. A student from Anspach the last abode and burying-place of the holy | accompanied him to that place. Landgravine Elizabeth of Hesse, lies crookedly, obliquely, and irregularly below an old castle, on the slope of a hill; its narrow streets, clay houses, &c., leave on the mind of him who only travels through it, or is merely superficially ac- quainted with it, a prejudicial, but in reality an incorrect impression; for if he becomes ac- quainted with the internal social life of its in- habitants, and the people in their true charac- ter, he finds a cordiality, and such a real friend- ship as is seldom met with elsewhere. ‘This is no vain compliment, but a thank-offering and a true testimony, which I owe to the worthy in- habitants of Marburg. To this must be added, that the vicinity of the city is beautiful and very agreeable, and the whole scene is animated by the river Lahn; for though it bears no heavy burdens upon its slender back, yet it labours diligently as a por- ter, and helps the neighbours on every side. The first family in Marburg which opened the arms of friendship to Stillmg and Selma, was that of the Coings. Doctor Johann Franz Coing was professor of Divinity, and a real Christian; and to these, he united a friendly, gentle, pleasing, and secretly benevolent char- acter. His spouse was likewise devout and pious; both were descended from the French refugees, and the family-name of the professor’s lady was Duising. This worthy couple had four grown-up children,—three daughters, Eli- za, Maria, and Amalia; and a son called Jus- tus, who studied theology ; these four children are the images of their parents, and models of the christian and domestic virtues. The whole family lives in a very quiet and retired man- ner. The reasons why the family of the Coings at- tached themselves so warmly and cordially to that of the Stillings, were various :—parents and children had read Stilling’s history ; both the men were from the same province ; relatives on both sides had intermarried. The Rev. Mr. Kraft in Frankfort, Stilling’s old and tried friend, was Coing’s brother-in-law, their wives being sisters ; and what is still more than all, they were christians on both sides, and this establish- es the bond of love and friendship more firmly than any thing else. Where the spirit of christi- anity reigns, it unites the hearts, by the bond of perfection, in such a high degree, that all other human connections are not to be compared with it ;—he is happy, who experiences it! Selma attached herself particularly to Eliza Coing ; equality of age, and perhaps other causes, Which lay in the character of both, laid the foundation for this intimate connection. Stilling’s many and laborious employments, and particularly also a most oppressive spasmo- dic attack, which greatly tormented him daily, and especially towards evening, operated pow- erfully on his mind, the first winter he spent in Marburg. He lost his cheerfulness, became melancholy, and so easily excited that he could not avoid weeping on the slightest occasion. Selma therefore sought to persuade him to un- dertake a journey, during the Easter vacation, to her relatives in Franconia and Oéettingen. ‘With much difficulty she at length induced him to consent; and he undertook this journey in It is something peculiar in Stilling’s charac- ter, that rural scenery makes such a deep and beneficial impression upon him; whether he be travelling or merely taking a walk, it is with him as with a lover of the arts when walking about in an excellent picture-gallery. Stilling possesses a classical feeling for the beauties of nature. On the journey through Franconia, he was incessantly tormented by spasms at the sto- mach ; he could not bear any kind of food ; but the character of the scenery of that country was strengthening and comforting to him ;—there is much grandeur in the views and prospects of Franconia. At Anspach, Stilling visited Uz, the German Anacreon. He entered into the apartment of this great lyric poet with a kind of timidity ; Uz, who is short, but rather corpulent in per- son, came towards him with a cheerful gravity, and awaited, with reason, the declaration of the stranger, to tell him who he was. ‘This decla- ration was no sooner made, than the worthy old man embraced and saluted him, saying, “You are truly Heinrich Stilling !—it rejoices me much to see the man whom Providence so remarkably leads, and who so boldly confesses and courageously defends the religion of Jesus.” The conversation then turned on poets and poesy ; and when they separated, Uz took Still- ing once more in his arms, and said, “‘ May God bless, strengthen, and preserve you! Never be weary in defending the cause of religion, and of bearing the reproach of our Redeemer and our Head! The present age needs such men, and the following will need them still more! We shall eventually see each other again with joy in a better world !” Stilling felt deeply and inwardly affected and strengthened, and hastened away with his eyes suffused in tears. Uz, Cramer, and Klopstock will probably be the Asaph, Heman, and Jeduthun in the temple of the new Jerusalem. We shall see if this be the case, when scenes in the invisible world are again unfolded to us. The next morning Stilling rode five leagues further to the village of Kernmathen, a place not far from Dinkelsbuhl. He there drove up to the parsonage-house, alighted at the door of the court-yard, and waited for it to be opened. The clergyman, a handsome, dark-complexioned man, came out of the house, opened the gate, and thought of nothing so little as of seeing his brother-in-law, Stilling ;—the surprise was great. The clergyman’s lady, meanwhile, was otherwise engaged, and in reality, she did not exactly like to be disturbed in her employment by a visitor; however, when her husband con ducted the visitor to her, she received him po- litely, as customary ; but when he told her that he brought a message from her sister Selma, and also called her “ sister,’’ she welcomed him most cordially. Stilling spent a few happy days with brother Hohlbach and sister Sophia. ‘Their reciprocal brotherly and sisterly affection is immutable, and will continue beyond the grave. Sister Sophia accompanied her brother-in-law to Wallerstein, to her brother’s house. At STILLING'’S YEARS OF TUITION. Oettingen they drove past the church-yard where Selma’s and Sophia’s father reposes, to whom each devoted some silent tears; as they did also at Baldingen, at their mother’s grave. The brother and his lady rejoiced at the visit. No sooner had Prince Kraft Ernest Von Oet- tingen Wallerstein heard of Stilling’s arrival, than he invited him, as long as he should re- main there, to dine and sup at the prince’s table ; he accepted this offer, but only for din- ner, because he wished to spend the evenings in the circle of his friends. This prince’s terri- tory is one of the most pleasant in Germany ; for the Riess is a plain, many miles in diameter, which is watered by the Mernitz, and surround- ed by lofty mountains. From the moderate eminence at the foot of which Wallerstein lies, there is a commanding prospect of this garden of God; near at hand is the imperial city of Nordlingen, and an innumerable multitude of towns and villages are also within view. Stilling’s residence here was beneficial, by his being of service to several persons diseased in the eye; he performed an operation upon president Von Schade, which proved successful, and the worthy man recovered his sight. At this time the notorious Weckherlin, author of “The Grey Monster,” and “ The Hyperborean Letters,” was in prison in a hill-fort in the principality of Wallerstein. He had grossly and in a malicious manner insulted the magis- trate of the imperial city of Nordlingen, who sent a requisition to the prince of Wallerstein, in whose territory Weckherlin was residing, demanding satisfaction. The prince therefore had him arrested and conveyed to the hill fort. The prince’s brother, Count Franz Ludwig, would gladly have procured the captive’s free- dom, and had made several fruitless attempts to do so; but on observing that the prince ex- pressed a particular fondness for Stilling, he entreated the latter to beg that Weckherlin might be set at liberty, for he had already en- dured a sufficient penance for his petulance. There are cases in which the true christian cannot come to a decision with himself; and this was one of that kind. To request the liberty of a man who had abused it to the pre- judice of his fellow-creatures, and especially of the magistracy, required consideration ; and on the other hand, imprisonment, particularly for such a man as Weckherlin, is a grievous afflic- tion. The recollection that there were still a variety of means to restrain a man that abuses his liberty, outweighed Stilling’s scruples; he therefore ventured, during dinner, to beg of the prince to set Weckherlin at liberty. The prince smiled, and rejoined, “If I let him louse he will go into some other country, and then I shall be attacked ;—besides this, he is in want of nothing ; he can take a walk in the castle, and enjoy the free air.” However, not long after, the prisoner was released. After an agreeable residence of ten days, Stilling set out again from Wallerstein. His relatives accompanied him to Dinkelsbihl, to which place sister Sophia also came ; here they all remained together a night; and the next morning, Stilling took a tender leave of them ali, and continued his journey to Frankfort. He there met his daughter Hannah at his friend Kraft’s; she had been for a while with her 125 relatives in the Netherlands, and was now grown-up. The father rejoiced over the daugh- ter, and the daughter over the father. Both then rode together to Marburg. Selma, ac- companied by friend Coing and her friend Eliza, came as far as Giessen to meet them, and thus they all arrived again, happy and contented, at home. He that imagines Stilling’s situation was at that time devoid of sorrow, is much mistaken. There are sufferings, the most painful of all, of which we can cqmplain to the Almighty alone ; because they would become perfectly intolerable through the idea that our most intimate friends had any knowledge of them. I therefore very seriously beg all my readers, by nod means to reflect upon this kind of sufferings, lest they fall upon suppositions which in this case would be sinful. Irrespective of this, Stilling’s spas- modic attacks caused him sufhcient suffering. About this time, there came a worthy indi- vidual to Marburg. He was governor to two young noblemen, who were to study there under his superintendance ;—we will here call him Raschmann. He had studied divinity, and pos- sessed peculiar abilities; he had a penetrating mind, an extraordinarily quick perception, a very highly cultivated classical feeling, and was possessed of an incomparable diligence. But, on the other hand, he was also a severe judge of every one with whom he became acquainted ; and this very becoming acquainted with persons was one of his most favorite and agreeable em- ployments. In every place and in every com- pany, he observed with an eagle’s eye each individual, and their actions, and then decided respecting their character; practice had, it is true, made an adept of him; but his judgments were not always under the direction of christian love, nor were failings always covered with its mantle. However, he had excellently educated the young Counts, and they still rank amongst the best men I know. This caused him, not- withstanding his criticising habit, to be esteem- ed in the eyes of every worthy man. He had acted a prominent part in a certain connection, and had there attained his expert- ness in the knowledge of mankind. In other respects, he loved splendour and a good table ; he drank the best wines, and his food was choice and delicate. In his deportment, he was very precise, captious, and passionate ; and his domestics were harassed and ill-treated. This remarkable man sought Stilling’s friendship ; he and his young pupils attended all his lectures, and visited him two or three’times a week at his house; and he dined frequently with him, together with other professors and friends. So much is certain, that Stilling found Raschmann’s society agreeable, however much they differed in their religious sentiments ; for Raschmann’s acquirements were very extensive and refined, and, in the company of those who were not be- neath him, he was very agreeable and extremely entertaining. In the summer of that year (1788), Counsellor Mieg, of Heidelberg, with his estimable lady, came also to Marburg, in order to visit their friends there, and amongst others, Stilling and Selma. ‘The integrity, unremitting activity in duing good, and the feeling, benevolent soul of Mieg, had made a pleasing impression upon 126 HEINRICH Stilling, so that they were cordial friends ; and the two ladies, likewise, stood in the same con- nexion with each other. knot still more firmly ; but it had, besides this, an important effect on Stilling’s mode of think- ing and his philosophical system. Stilling, by means of Leibnitz and Wolf's philosophy, had fallen into the heavy bondage of fatalism. He had struggled for twenty years together, by prayer and supplication, against this giant, without being able to overcome him. He had, indeed, always maintained, in his wri- tings, the freedom of the wilf and of human actions, and had believed in it also, in opposition to all the objections of his reason. He had, likewise, never ceased praying; although this giant continually whispered in his ear, ‘‘ Thy prayers avail not; for what God in his counsels has decreed, takes place, whether thou pray or not.”’ But notwithstanding this, Stilling con- tinued to believe and pray, but without light or consolation ; even his answers to prayer did not comfort him, for the giant said it was mere accident. O God! this was a dreadful tempta- tion! All the delights of religion ; its promises of this life and that which is to come; this only consolation in life, suffering, and death, becomes an illusive phantom, as soon as the individual gives ear to fatalism. Mieg was accidentally Stilling’s deliverer from this captivity. He was speaking, on one occasion, of a certain treatise on philosophy, which had pleased him extreme- ly. He then adduced, likewise, the postulate of Kant’s moral principles, which is, ‘ Act so, that the maxims of thy intentions may be al- ways a universal law.” ‘This excited Stilling’s attention. The novelty of this position made a deep impression upon him, and he determined to read Kant’s writings ;—he had hitherto shud- dered at the thought, because the ‘study of a new philosophy, and especially this, seemed an unsurmountable object. He naturally read first, Kant’s “Critique of Pure Reason.” He soon comprehended its meaning, and his struggle with fatalism was all at once at an end. Kant proves, from incon- trovertible grounds, that human reason knows nothing beyond the limits of the visible world ; ‘and, that in super-sensible things, so often as it judges and decides from its own principles, it always stumbles upon contradictions ; that is, it contradicts itself. This book is a commen- tary on the words of Paul, ‘The natural man knoweth nothing of the things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness unto: him,” &c. Stilling’s soul -was now as if it had gained wings; it had been hitherto intolerable to him that human reason, this divine gift which dis- tinguishes us from the brute creation, should be entirely opposed to that religion which was supremely dear to him. But he now found every thing appropriate and worthy of God ;— he found the source of super-sensible truths, in the revelation of God to man in the Bible; and the source of all the truths which appertain to this earthly life in nature and reason. On one occasion, when Stilling wrote to Kant, he ex- pressed his joy and approbation to this great philosopher. also do well in seeking yuur sole consolation in the gospel; for it is the never-failing source of This visit tied the lible source be found, out of the Bible? a sure and eternal truth, that every axiom of the whole code of morality 1s an immediate revelation from God ; jet any one prove to me the contrary. Kant replied, and in his letter stood the never-to-be-forgotten words, ‘ You STILLING. all truth, which, when reason has measuree out its whole jurisdiction, can be found nowhere else. 7 Stilling afterwards read also Kant’s “‘ Critique of Practical Reason,” and then his “ Religion within the Bounds of Reason.” At first he thought he perceived probability in both; but on maturer reflection, he saw that Kant did not seek the source of super-sensible truth in the gospel, but in the moral principle. But can this moral feeling in man, which bids the Mexi- can offer human sacrifices, the North American scalp the innocent captive, the Otaheitan steal, and the Hindoo worship a cow,—can this be the source of super-sensible truth? Or, sup- posing it was said,—Not the corrupt, but the pure moral principle, which properly expresses his position, is this source ; I answer, that the pure moral principle is a mere form, an empty faculty of knowing good and evil. But now show me, anywhere, a man who is solely under the influence of this moral principle. Ali are deluded, from their youth up, by a variety of errors, so that they take good for evil, and evil for good. In order that the moral principle may become the true guide of human conduct, that which is truly good and beautiful must be gwen the individual from a pure and infallible source ;—but where can such a pure and infal- It is What the wisest heathens have said that is beautiful, was imparted to them by means of manifold reflection from the light of revelation. Stilling had, however, gained sufficient from Kant’s “Critique of Pure Reason ;” and this book is, and will remain, the only possible phil- osophy,—taking the word in the common ac- ceptation of the term. Now, much as Stilling was tranquillized on this side, yet a different and still greater danger threatened him from another; a more subtle, and consequently also a more dangerous foe, sought to ensnare him. course with Raschmann gradually imparted to him, without his observing it, a number of ideas His frequent inter- which, singly, did not seem to him at all sus- picious; but afterwards, collectively taken, form- ed a basis from whence, in time, nothing could have resulted but, first, Socinianism; next, Deism ; then, Naturalism; and finally, Athe- ism; and with it, anti-christianity. But his heavenly Guide did not suffer it to prevail so far with him as even to make a commencement of this falling-away from divine truth ;—how- ever, it was already bad enough, that the atoning sacrifice of Jesus began to appear to him to be an oriental embellishment of the moral merits of the Saviour in behalf of men. Raschmann was able to express this with so much apparent warmth and veneration for the Redeemer, and with such a plausible love to Him, that Stilling began to be persuaded. How- ever, happily it did not proceed further with him ; for his religious ideas and frequent expe- rience were much too deeply rooted in his whole being for him to decline further, or even to be- gin to do so. This state of mind lasted about a year; and a certain illustrious and devout lady will stil! STILLING’S YEARS OF TUITION. remember a letter of Stilling’s written at that time, which withdrew her affection and esteem . from him for a period,—that is, until his mind had again returned to the truth. Thank God, it did return thither !—and he then observed, with astonishment, how much the reproving grace of God had gradually with- drawn itself from his heart. Sinful sensual impulses, long ago extinguished, already began to show themselves faintly in his heart, and the inward peace of God in his soul had become a distant glimmer. The good Shepherd re- stored him, and led him again into the right way; the sequel of this history shows the means used for this purpose. This aberration, however, was of utility to Stilling, in causing him to examine more strict- lv the doctrine of the Atonement ; and he then apprehended it so firmly that no power can ever deprive him of it. ——= CHAPTER XV. Tue following year, in the winter of 1789, the reigning Countess of Stollberg Wernigerede wrote to Stiliing to visit her during the Easter vacation. He answered that he could not take the journey merely for the sake of a visit ; but as soon as there were any blind people there, to whom he could be serviceable, he would come. This caused the reigning Count to make it known throughout his territory, that an oculist would visit him, and he that desired his assist- ance should come to the castle of Wernigerode in the passion-week. This excellent arrange- ment occasioned the ridiculous report that the Count of Wernigerode had ordered all the blind people in his dominions to appear in the passion- week at his castle, on pain of ten rix-dollars fine, in order to be operated upon. On receiving the intelligence that blind peo- ple would be there, Stilling set ont on his jour- ney on Tuesday in the passion-week, on horse- back. The youthful spring was in full activity ; the shrubs and bushes were every where un- folding their leaves, and the fecundity of nature filled all things with delight. Stilling had, from his childhood, always sympathized with nature ; he therefore felt highly delighted on this journey. During the whole way, nothing struck him more than the difference between Osterrode at the foot of the Harz, and Clausthal on its sum- mit ; at the former, the spring was blooming ; at the latter, only two leagues distant, every thing was stiff with ice, cold, and snow, which lay at least eight feet deep. On Good Friday evening Stilling arrived at the castle of Wernigerode, and was received with uncommon kindness and affection by the family of the Count. Here he found eleven per- sons blind of the cataract, who were quartered at the castle and fed from the kitchen. Stilling performed the operation upon them on Easter Sunday morning, before the service at church, and the surgeon to the Count took charge of the binding-up. Amongst these blind people was a young wo- man of twenty-eight years of age, who had al- most perished in the snow, on her return home from Andreasberg to Jlsenburg, on the side of the Brocken ; the snow fell so thick and deep "107 that at length it went over her head, and she could proceed no further; sHe was found, after lying twenty-four hours in quiet stupefaction. This unfortunate occurrence had injured her health no otherwise, than by leaving her per- fectly blind of the cataract; she now obtained her sight again. An old man and his aged sister were also amongst the number. Both of them had had the cataract for a series of years, and had not seen each other for at least twenty years. When they were both cured, and came together again, their first sensation was astonishment at each other, and wonder at their aged appear- ance. The days which Stilling here spent, as in the precincts of heaven, will remain ever memora- ble to him. A week after Easter he set out again for Marburg. A few weeks after this, the worthy and no- ble family of Wernigerode passed through Mar- burg, on their way to Switzerland. Stilling and Selma were visited by them; and on this occa- sion the Count expressed his intention of being with him again, with his fellow-travellers, on the 12th of September following, and that he would then celebrate his birth-day with him. The nobleman kept his word; on the 12th of September, which was Stilling’s fiftieth birth- day, the whole company again arrived safe, well, and delighted, in Marburg. A good friend in the suite of the Count had given Selma a hint of it a few days before. She had, therefore, prepared a large supper in the evening, to which Raschmann, with his young nobleman, and other worthy Marburg people, were invited. I scarcely need mention that the family of the Coings were not forgotten on this occasion. Never had Stilling’s birth-day been celebrated in such a manner before. His lec- turer’s chair was illuminated, and a speech from Raschmann heightened the solemnity. It was, however, remarkable, that the jubilee* of Stil- ling’s life was solemnized in such a manner, without any one thinking that this was just his fiftieth birth-day ; the whole happened natural- ly ;—it afterwards occurred to Stilling, and it then was evident, that that evening was a con- secration to a new epoch in his life. Soon afterwards, in the autumn of 1789, the vacation commenced, in which Stilling took a journey into the province of Darmstadt, and from thence to Neuwied, in order to assist the blind. Raschmann, his two young pupils, and Selma, accompanied him to Frankfort ; he then travelled to Risselsheim on the Maine, where he couched the Rev. Mr. Sartorius’s lady, and spent nine agreeable days in this religious fami- ly. This was the place where Stilling with respect to the doctrine of the Atonement, caught himself on the pale horse ;—Sartorius was one of the Halle school, or admirers of Franke, and spoke with Stilling on the truths of religion in his style. The conversation was chiefly upon the doctrine of the Atonement and imputed * The Germans pity much more attention to the obsery- ance of birth-days, anniversaries, &c., than is customary in this country, and particularly when a space of fifty years has elapsed, which is then called a jubilee. This is also especially the case when a couple have lived to- gether fifty years in the state of matrimony ; the ceremo- ny is then again performed, and the second celebration is called “the golden nuptials.”’—Wote of the Translator. i283 HEINRICH righteousness ; without intending it, he fell into a dispute with the pious clergyman upon this subject, and now discovered how far he had already deviated; his return, therefore, com- menced here. In Darmstadt also, Stilling couched several persons who were suffering from the cataract ; and there he met with a man who, up to that time, was the only one he had found laboring under that disease, who was willing to remain blind for the honor of God; for, on being in- formed of Stilling’s arrival, and told that, with the help of God, he might now regain his sight, he replied, very resignedly, ‘‘ The Lord has laid this cross upon me, and I will bear it to His honor!’ What a mistaken idea! From Darmstadt, Stilling journeyed to May- ence, where Count Maximilian Von Degenfeld at that time resided. travelling together to Neuwied. In the com- pany of this nobleman he visited Mr. Von Diine- wald, celebrated for his peculiar musical instru- ment; they viewed his pretty garden, and then Saw and heard the above-mentioned instrument, on which the proprietor played them a whole symphony, with all the accompanying instru- ments, very naturally and admirably. I know not what became of this instrument in the wars, and whether it be not for ever untuned. The next morning they sailed down the Rhine in a covered barge. The voyage was this time more prosperous than in the year 1770, when the yacht upset on its passage to Strasburg ; or in 1771, on the journey home, when Stilling took the same trip in the evening, in a three- boarded boat, and saved himself with his com- panion on board a barge. It was a beautiful morning in autumn, and the purple dawn swell- ed the sails of the barge in such a manner that they performed the six leagues, from Mayence to Bingen, in three hours. This water excur- sion is celebrated far and wide for its romantic prospects ; but will never be forgotten by Stil- ling, on account of the unfortunate accidents above-mentioned. At four in the afternoon they arrived at Neuwied, where they met Rasch- mann, with the young Counts, and the present vice-chancellor of the university, at that time professor Erxleben. Stilling took up his quar- ters with this friend at the Rev. Mr. Ming’s ; the rest were lodged in part at the castle. This journey of Stilling’s to Neuwied is re- markable in his history, from his having for the first time become acquainted with a Moravian church in that place, and attended once at their Sunday’s worship, when Brother du Vernoy preached an excellent sermon. The whole made a deep impression upon Stilling, and brought him into closer contact with the Mora- vians; to which Raschmann also contributed much, for although he widely differed from them in his religious sentiments, yet he spoke of them with much esteem and enthusiasm. Stilling had always been well disposed towards the Moravians, although he had many prejudices against them, for he had hitherto associated solely with ‘‘awakened”’ people, who had much to object to the Moravians, and he had pre- viously had no opportunity of examining for himself. Notwithstanding all this, they were very estimable in his opinion, on account of their missionary institutions Both were desirous of STILLING. The then reigning Prince, Johann Frederick Alexander, famous for his wisdom and maxims of tolerance, and who was far advanced in years, was at that time with his consort at his coun- try-seat, Monrepos, which is two leagues dis- tant from the town, and lies on the summit of a hill, up the valley, from whence there is an in- comparable prospect. One beautiful day he sent his equipage to fetch the two Marburg pro- fessors, Erxleben and Stilling, who dined with this princely pair, and returned in the evening to Neuwied. Here arose an intimate religious acquaintance between the old princess and Stil- ling, which was maintained by a lively corres- pondence until her transition into a better life. She was born Burgravine of Kirchberg, was a very pious and intelligent lady, and Stilling re- joices at the prospect of her welcoming him in the blissful plains of the kingdom of God. After Stilling had spent a few days here, also, in ministering to the blind, he set off again for Marburg, in company with his friend and col- league, Erxleben. At Wetzlar, Stilling expected with certainty to find a letter from Selma, but he found none. On his entering the parsonage, he observed a kind of embarrassment in his friend Machen- hauer and his lady ; he immediately asked whe- ther there was not a letter from Selma. ‘‘ No,” answered they; ‘‘ Selma is not well, yet she is not dangerously ill; we have to mention this to you, with her kind remembrances.” ‘This was enough for Stilling ; he instantly took post- horses, and arrived in the afternoon at Marburg. His daughter Hannah met him quite unex- pectedly in the hall; she had been for half a year with Selma’s relatives in Swabia, at Kem- mathen and Wallerstein. Sister Sophia Hohl- bach had shewn her great kindness; but she had been brought very low by a very vexatious disorder, from which she had suffered inexpres- sibly, and looked very ill. The paternal heart of Stilling was rent, and its wounds bled. From Hannah he learnt that her mother was not dan- gerously ill. As he ascended the stairs he saw Selma, pale and altered, standing in the corner on the land- ing-place. She received her husband with a tenderly melancholy look, and, smiling through tears, she said ‘‘ My dear, be not afraid !—there is nothing the matter with me.” This tranquil- lized him, and he went with her into the room. Selma had suffered much in her confinement in the spring, and Stilling believed that her pres- ent indisposition arose from the same cause. She did indeed recover; but a declaration fol- lowed on her part which plunged his soul, wea- ried by so many tedious and painful sufferings, into a profound melancholy. Soon after his re- turn from Neuwied, whilst sitting on the sofa with Selma, she took him by the hand, and said, ‘‘ Dear husband, listen to me calmly, and be not melancholy! I know for a certainty that I shall die in this confinement. I am no longer fit to accompany you through life. I have ful- filled that for which God gave me to you; but in future I should be unsuitable for the situation in which you are placed. Now, if you desire that I should pass the rest of my time quietly, and then die cheerfully, you must promise me that you will marry my friend Eliza Coing ; she will be more suitable for you than IJ, and I know STILLING’S YEARS OF TUITION. that she will be a good mother for my children, and an excellent consort for you. Now, for once place yourself above what is termed deco- rum, and promise me this! Do, my dear, promise it me!” The pleading look which beamed from her fine blue eyes was _ inde- scribable. ; My readers may judge for themselves how Stilling felt at that moment. That he could not possibly fulfil her wish, and promise her. that he would marry Eliza after her death, may be easi- ly supposed ; however, he recovered himself, and replied, “‘ My dear, you well know that you have foreboded your death in every such times, and yet you have always come safely through. I trust it will also be the case this time; and then consider duly, whether it is possible to promise what you require of me; for it is op- posed to every thing that can be even called pro- priety.”” Selma looked embarrassedly around her, and replied, “It is, however, grievous that you cannot place yourself above all this, in or- der to satisfy me! I know for a certainty that I shall die; it is now very different with me to what it has been before.” Although Stilling did not place any strong faith in this presentiment of death, yet his mind ‘was oppressed by a deep and foreboding melan- choly, and he took the resolution, from that time, daily to pray specially for Selma’s life, which he fulfilled. During the whole of the winter, Selma pre- pared for her death, as for a long journey. It may be supposed how her husband felt on the occasion ; she sought to arrange every thing, and did it all with cheerfulness and mental serenity. At the same time, she was constant- ly seeking to induce her husband to marry Eliza, and to make him promise her to do so. In this she went incredibly far; for one evening it happened that Stilling, Selma, and Eliza, were sitting quite alone at a round table, and supping together; when they had nearly finished, Selma looked longingly at Eliza, and said, ‘“ Dear Eliza, you will marry my husband when I am dead, will you not?” The situation in which Stilling and Eliza felt themselves placed by this speech, is indescribable. Eliza blushed deeply, and said, ** Do not speak so! God preserve us from such an event !”—and Stilling gave her a kind reproof for her improper behaviour. When she found that she could not gain her point with her husband, she applied to good friends, who she knew had much influence with Stilling, and entreated them suppliantly, to take care that after her death her wishes might be fulfilled. In the spring of 1790, the important period of Selma’s confinement gradually approached. Stilling’s prayers for her life became more fer- vent, but she continued always calm. On the eleventh of May, she was happily delivered of a son, and was well, according to circumstances. Stilling felt very happy, and gave God thanks; he then tenderly reproached the dear invalid for her presentiment ; but she looked at him seri- ously, and said very impressively, ‘‘ Dear hus- band, all is not over yet.” For five days she was very well, suckled her child, and was cheer- ful; but on the sixth, an eruption broke out, she grew very ill, and Stilling became greatly alarmed. Her friend Eliza came to wait upon ‘her, in which she was faithfully assisted by Han- R 129 nah. Madame Coing came also every day, and occasionally relieved her daughter. Stilling had still hopes of her recovery ; but, as he was sitting one afternoon alone by her bedside, he perceived that she began to speak irrationally, and to pull and straighten the bed- clothes. He ran out into the open air, through the Kenthof gate, and then through the beech- wood about the castle-hill, and prayed from his inmost soul, so that it might have penetrated to the very highest heaven—not for Selma’s life, for he did not expect a miracle, but for strength for his weary soul, in order to be able to bear this severe stroke. This prayer was heard; he returned home tranquillized ; the peace of God reigned in his breast ; he had offered up this great sacrifice to the Lord, who had graciously accepted it. After that time, he only saw Selma twice for a few moments ; for his physical nature suffered too much, and it was apprehended she could not bear it. He therefore suffered himself to be ad- vised, and kept at a distance. On the afternoon of the following day, he went again to her ;—she had already a locked jaw ; Eliza was reposing upon the sofa; Selma lifted up her half-closed eyes, looked wistfully at her husband, and then beckoned to Eliza. Stilling cast down his eyes, and departed. - The next morning he went to her bed once more ;—he will never forget the sight! the dawn of eternity beamed on her countenance. “Ts it well with you !”’ asked he. She audibly whispered through her closely-fastened teeth, “O yes!” Stilling tottered away, and saw her no more; for strong as his spirit was, yet his physical nature and his heart were shaken. Nor could Eliza bear to see her friend expire ; but Madame Coing closed her eyes. She de- parted this life the following night, on the 23d of May, at one o’clock. They came weeping to Stilling’s bed to inform him of it: “ Lord, thy will be done!” was his reply. —.—— CHAPTER XVI Setma dead !—the woman of whom Stilling was so proud, dead!—that is saying much! Though profound peace reigned in his soul, still his state and condition were indescribable ;—his frame was dreadfully shaken; the spasmodic complaint which continually tormented him, had already excited his nervous system to a high degree, and this stroke might have entirely ruined it, if the paternal goodness of God had not supported him; or, to speak in fashionable terms, if he had not had so strong a constitution. Death and silence now environed him. At Christina’s departure, he had been so much pre- pared, by previous wearisome sufferings, that it was a relief, an alleviation to him; but now it was quite different. That Selma was in the right when she said she was no longer suitable for his mode of life, he began, indeed, clearly to see, and in the sequel, found it true; but still her departure was heart-rending and dreadful to him ;—she had been much to him; and had been a striking instrument in the hand of his heavenly Guide, with reference to him: but now she was no more. 130 HEINRICH Stilling, when he married Selma, had never been amongst people of high rank. Much still adhered to him from his parentage and educa- tion; in his whole life and deportment, gait and gestures, eating and drinking, and in his mode of address, especially in his intercourse with people of rank, he conducted himself so that his low origin was immediately observed; he al- ways did either too much or too little in a thing. Selma, who was an accomplished lady, polished all this away completely ; at least, the observation was never afterwards made that Stilling was deficient in good breeding ; for it afterwards appeared that he was destined to associate with persons of the highest class. But she was, particularly with reference to his debts, a helping angel sent from God. She was an excellent housekeeper ;—with a very moderate income, in Lautern and Heidelberg, she had liquidated above two thousand guilders of debt, by which all the creditors were so paci- fied that the rest were content, and willingly waited. But the chief thing was, that immedi- ately after she had married Stilling, she tran- quillized his soul, which had been tormented by the miserable, unfeeling, and mercenary spirit of unmerciful creditors, in such a manner, that he knew not what to think of it; from a storm, which threatened him every moment with ship- wreck, she placed him on dry land. ‘ Attend to your vocation,” said she; “trouble yourself about nothing, and commit the care to me;”’ and she faithfully kept her word. Selma had been, therefore, during the nine years in which they lived together in the marriage state, a continual means of happiness to Stilling. When she declared that she was no longer a suitable companion for Stilling, though this declaration was perfectly correct, yet I must entreat every reader not to think any evil on that account, nor to imagine any. Selma pos- sessed an extremely noble character ; she was an excellent wife; but there are situations and circumstances for which even the most excel- lent of mankind are unsuitable. Stilling’s guidance was always systematic ; or rather, the plan according to which he was led, was always so manifest, that every acute observer perceived it. Raschmann also saw through it ;—he often regarded Stilling with as- tonishment, and said, ‘‘ Providence must have something peculiar in view with reference to you, for all the trifling as well as important events which have befallen you, tend to some great object, which still lies hidden in the ob- scurity of the future.”’ Stilling likewise felt this perceptibly, and it humbled him in the dust; but it gave him also courage and boldness to struggle forward in the path of conflict ; and it may easily be supposed how much such a guid- ance promotes true Christianity, and faith in the Redeemer of the world. Selma lay a lifeless corpse. Hannah, a girl of sixteen years and a half old, now seized with courage and resolution the helm of the house- keeping, in which she was assisted by a worthy and faithful maid-servant, whom Selma had en- gaged in Lautern, and who, under her instruc- tions, had become an able housekeeper. Of six children, which Selma had borne, three were still alive; Lisette, Caroline, and the orphan suckling which she had forsaken. Lis- STILLING.: ette was four years and a quarter, and Caroline two years and a half old. Selma herself had not completed her thirtieth year when she died, and yet had accomplished so much. It is sin- gular that in her bridal days she said to Stilling, “You will not have me long, for I shall not live to be thirty years old; a remarkable man in Dettingen told me so.” : However faithful and well intentioned Han- nah was, yet she was not at that time capable of undertaking the bringing-up of her little sis- ters ; but the departed saint had already pro- vided for this ; for she had arranged that Lisette should be taken to her friend Madame Mieg, at Heidelberg, until her father had married again, and Caroline was to remain, for the same length of time, with another good friend, who lived some miles distant from Marburg. ‘The first arrangement was carried into effect some weeks after. Stilling sent her, with a maid-servant, to Frankfort, to the house of his friend Kraft, whence she was fetched by Madame Mieg ; but Madame Coing took Caroline, for she said, ‘It was hard that two children should be removed, both at once, from their deeply-sorrowing pa- rent, and to such a distance.” Stilling was satisfied with this, for he was convinced Selma would have committed both the children to Eliza, if it had not been contrary to decorum, which now enjoined him to withdraw himself a little from the family of the Coings, in whose place another friend pressed forward with his aid. The present privy-counsellor and government- director Riess, of Marburg, was at that time government-advocate, and commissary for the management of the University estates, to which Stilling had been also appointed treasurer from the beginning; both knew and loved each other. Scarcely, therefore, had Selma expired, when Reiss came and undertook all the arrange- ments which circumstances required; whilst Stilling was taken home to his house, where he continued till all was over. His good consort im- mediately took away the little suckling, and provided a nurse for it, whilst Riess gave the necessary orders for the interment of the corpse, so that Stilling had no occasion whatever to trouble himself in the least. The child was baptized in Riess’s house; who with Coing, Raschmann, and the Counts, who offered them- selves, were the sponsors. Such actions will be eventually highly esteemed: Riess and Still- ing are friends for eternity, and there it will be easier to speak of such things than here. The first thing that Stilling undertook for his consolation, was to send for his aged father, Wilhelm Stilling. The venerable old man, now seventy-four years of age, and severely tried in the school of affliction, came without delay ; his peace of soul and resignation imparted consola- tion also to his son, who resembles him. He remained with him about a fortnight; during which time Stilling regained in some measure his serenity, to which also Selma’s last will con- tributed much. That he must marry again was. a matter of course, for he required some one to bring up his children, and keep his house ; be- cause it was not proper that Hannah should trifle away her prospects of happiness for the sake of her father's housekeeping. How bene- ficial therefure it was that the legitimate pos- sessor of his heart should have appointed her STILLING’S YEARS OF TUITION. successor, and that in such a manner that Still- ing himself would have made no other choice! He who has not experienced it, cannot be- lieve how consolatory it is to a widower to know that his departed consort approved of his choice ;—and here was more than approbation. After the period had elapsed which decorum determines and the laws prescribe, Stilling paid his addresses to Eliza; whose parents, as well as herself, made him again happy by their affec- tionate consent. The gracious good pleasure of God in this union, the accomplished will of the departed Selma, and the kind wishes and approbation of all good men, imparted to his soul a peace which cannot be described. From that time, Eliza undertook Caroline’s education ; she also visited Hannah, and assisted her with her advice ; and Stilling had now a friend with whom he could converse with unlimited confi- dence. The twelfth of September, which had been so brilliantly celebrated the previous autumn, now again approached. Stilling had, since then, struggled through a year of painful suffering. The hereditary Prince of Hesse was at that time studying in Marburg, to whom Stilling gave instruction four times a week ; the prince invited him to dinner on his birth-day, together with Father Coing ; and his natal day was cele- brated in the evening at the house of the latter. |: The nineteenth of November, the day of the holy Elizabeth, had always been observed in the family of the Duisings, the ladies of which also generally bore that name. With respect to Eliza, it was likewise particularly remarkable, because she is properly thrice called Elizabeth ; she was born on the 9th of May, 1756, and had three such sponsors at her baptism as probably few persons have had. These were, her grand- mother Duising; the mother of the latter, Vulteius ; and her mother, consequently Eliza’s great-great-grandmother, Madame Von Hamm; —these three matrons, her grandmother, great- grandmother, and great - great - grandmother, were present at the baptism; and the latter, Madame Von Hamm, presided at the christen- ing-dinner. All the three ladies bore the name of Elizabeth. This “ Elizabeth-day” was fixed for Stilling and Eliza’s nuptials. He first read his four lectures, instructed the prince for an hour, and then proceeded to the house of the Coings, where the marriage-ceremony was to be performed. The Elector of Hesse expressed his high approbation of this fidelity to the duties of his office, although at the same time he re- proached him severely for marrying again so soon. Eliza’s parents had invited several friends to the marriage-supper ; and the reformed minis- ter, Schlarbaum, a sure and tried friend of Still- ing, performed the ceremony. He and his family were very beneficial companions to Still- ing on his path, during his residence at Mar- burg. Between the ceremony and the supper, Still- ing played on the piano-forte the following verses ; and Hannah sang them with her silver voice : “ Ascend, my spirit, to the throne Of Him who rules above; Who visibly hath led thee on, With all a parent’s love. 131 Father of all created things, In air, or earth, or sky, To Thee my heart its tribute brings, Thou Author of its joy! The radiance of the morning light Beam’d on my flowery way, And with a flood of new delight Thou crown’dst each passing day. Selma, thy gift, with aiding hand, Walk'd lovely at my side; And all my griefs, at her command, Consumed away and died; When suddenly, the gloom of night Obscured my radiant morn; Thy lightnings fill’d ray soul with fright. ~ And left me quite forlorn. The corpse of Selma sank in dust: Her spirit burst its clod ; ‘Be strong,’ it said, ‘believe and trust; And then it soar’d to God ;— And whisper’d, as it disappear’d, ‘Be now Eliza thine ; For thou shalt by her love be cheer’d, E’en as thou wast with mine. A sacred stillness reign’d around, And I was left alone; I cried, though plunged in grief profound ‘Thy will, O God be done!’ Again, thy kind, benignant eye Beam’d on me graciously ; And she descended from the sky, Whom Selma gave to me. Now, Lord, before thy throne we bow, Oh may we happy be! And kindly make our cup o’erflow With true felicity. The seeds of pure beneficence Which we in hope would sow,— A gracious shower, O Lord, dispense, And cause the seed to grow. O let Eliza, at my side, Thy richest blessings see ; With me the day of grief abide, And bend the suppliant knee. Then listen to the anxious sighs Which from our hearts ascend, That long to gain perfection’s prize And ever upwards tend. Father ! thus to our journey’s end Conduct us hand in hard; Until before thy face we bend, Home, in our native land !’* The evening was spent cheerfully and happi- ly ; and a new course of life now commenced, which gradually distinguished itself from every former period, and brought Stilling nearer to his peculiar destiny. Eliza cheerfully com- menced her new sphere of action, in confidence in God; and soon found, what a friend had already observed to her, that it was no easy matter to tread the same path with Stilling. She has hitherto faithfully and firmly accompa- nied him on his pilgrimage ; and has often and variously made it evident that she understands how to be Stilling’s consort. Some weeks before Stilling’s marriage, Rasch- mann and the young Counts, his pupils, left Marburg. He was a comet, which accompa- nied the planet Stilling for a period on its course, and made the latter feel the influence of its atmosphere. He had certainly, in one respect, operated prejudicially on Stilling, as before mentioned ; but this impression soon vanished in the new family circle, and he became afterwards, through other cooperating causes, still more firmly grounded in the doctrine of the Atonement than before. But on the other hand, Raseh- mann belonged, in a remarkable manner, to the instruments of Stilling’s improvement ; through 132 HEINRICH ‘him he learnt great, mysterzous, and important things; things which were of an extensive and comprehensive nature. That which Barruel and the triumph of philosophy intend to relate, and re- late correctly, in the main, bul erroneously in the detail, was nuw made known to him. It must not, however, be supposed that Rasch- mann purposely instructed Stilling in all this. The truth was, he was very talkative ; so that when he had invited his friends to see him, some morsel or other continually made its ap- pearance ; and, as Stilling had a good memory, he retained correctly every thing he heard, and thus learnt, in the three years which Rasch- mann spent at Marburg, the whole connexion of that system of philosophy which has subse- quently produced such great and dreadful phe- nomena in the ecclesiastical and political hori- zon; and when he connected that which he himself had learnt and read, with the frag- ments above-mentioned, and rectified one by the other, a correct and true whole resulted from it. was, is still, and will be in future to Stilling, may be judged of by those who have a clear insight into the object of their existence. —th no longer his proper vocation. The first was an inward conviction, which had arisen in him during the time he was wri- ting the ‘‘ Nostalgia,’ and for which he was unable to give a reason. The impulse he had so strongly felt from his childhood to become an active instrument in the Lord’s hands, for the advancement of religion, and which was also al- Ways the operative cause of his minor religious occupations, now stood more conspicuously be- fore his eyes than ever, and filled him with a longing to become free from all earthly things, in order to become able to serve the Lord and His kingdom actively and with all his powers. The second voice, which spoke the same thing, was contained in every letter he received, ‘ether from far or near ;—persons of every *n society, from the highest to the lowest, spon him to devote himself exclusively atirely to the service of the Lord and the se of religion, and by no means to discon- iue his labours in that department. The third and last voice was, that just about this time, academical orders and a revolution- ary spirit prevailed amongst the students at Marburg, by which their whole minds were fill- ed with principles and sentiments directly op- posed to the doctrines which Stilling taught. Hence the number of his hearers continually de-